Remembering
by Author00
Summary: With war brewing on the east coast, and not even the mighty Lone Wanderer able to stop it, he sets off to find aid in the west. But a bullet to the head makes his job a bit harder than he had at first thought.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Ambush

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><p>Gideon walked out of Primm. He considered atomizing the package, but decided against it, tucking the chip in his pocket. <em>Well, I could always use more caps,<em>he thought. Plus, the guy, Johnson Nash, seemed really desperate to get the package going. Apparently, he had seven couriers and six packages. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem, except one refused to do the job for his own reasons, and the other was away on a different job.

He was heading back to Vegas anyway. He needed to get into contact with some aid, better than the sparse civilizations and tribes he had encountered on the way here. The one group powerful enough to really turn the tide of the war he had met on his cross-country journey was the Mid-Western Brotherhood, and the way things were run was far too totalitarian. He wouldn't have accepted their aid if they had offered it for free. Not that they would give it now, considering he had blown up one of their barracks during their brief encounter.

There was power here, though. People like the NCR, the Legion, though they weren't much of an option, and this enigmatic Mr. House. They could help him, and the rest of the District, in the 'Good Fight', as his old friend Three Dog would put it. Sure he had already discounted most of them, but if the transmission he had picked up was anything to go by, then he had no option but to get some aid. The NCR may be too busy now, but maybe if he helped them win their own war. Lord knows he had pissed off the Legion anyways...

His thoughts were interrupted by the gunshot by his foot.

He looked around to see 15 men and women surrounding him. Many of them had hair he'd see on raiders, but they were different. Cleaner. They wore worn blue jeans and leather, the words "Great Khans" written on the vest back. The majority of them were armed with 10mm pistols and SMGs, though one had a Hunting Shotgun, and a particularly large one was leveling a minigun at him.

There were two guys of interest. Both were caucasian, one tan, with heavily oiled brown hair. The suit he was wearing was checkered black and white. It was abnormally clean, hinting at the lack of real work, as did his finely cut nails. He was more than likely the leader, for his brains over brawn.

The other had shoulder length blond hair, blue eyes like fire, burning sapphire. He stood two inches taller than Gideon, at 6'6, and was bound with hard muscle meant from breaking the strongest men in half. The most interesting thing about his appearance, however, was the small metal speaker, about as big as the end of Gideon's thumb, strapped around his throat, perhaps to help him speak. Blondie was dressed like the other Khans. He had only a knife, but was probably the most dangerous of the group.

He felt an aura about the man, the aura similar to the one many said he had. He felt like having Blondie at his back would make him a lot safer than otherwise, nigh on invincible. But the feeling people felt around Gideon was different in the way that they would follow him to Hell in back, while Blondie was the the kind people would want following them to Hell and back.

_Well, _he thought, _I've been in worse situations. _Like stuck in a base with men armed to the teeth in cutting-edge Pre-War technology, or jumping on a vertibird, smashing in the windshield, and taking everyone with you, or destroying a slave civilization, slaves and owners, then retaking it for himself using knowledge taken from an immune child, or jumping on a behemoth from two-hundred feet then killing it...

_'In hindsight,' _He thought dryly, _'Jericho was wrong. I'm not a magnet for trouble, I'll purposely cause troublesome situations to try and help others, then end up attracting more trouble, which will then try and kill me.'_

Suit stepped forward.

"You have something I want. _Now._" Suit said. He was resting his grip on his 9mm pistol.

_'Really scary.' _Gideon thought, annoyed at the lack of respect and fear being in unknown territory got him. Back in the D.C. Hellhole, fools like this would piss themselves in fear at the sight of him! Now, he was anonymous. But that had its own uses, he supposed. '_Best play dumb.' _he thought. _'_

"I have no idea what your talking about." Gideon said, feigning ignorance. He could immediately tell they saw through his bullshit.

"Bullshit!" Suit said ironically. "We saw you put it in your pocket!" Now the all had their guns pointed at him.

"No." Gideon said.

"No you didn't put it in your pocket, or no you won't give me the chip?"

Gideon just smirked in reply. Suit turned to the others, and made a cutting motion across his neck. They opened fire.

Gideon moved. Fast.

He deatomized his winterized power armor, along with his minigun. He let lose a spray of fire. One fell back, eight bullets in her chest. He felt the bullets hitting his armor. Another went down, one bullet in his head, two in his chest. Finally, the Khans moved, while suit cowered behind a rock. Gideon atomized his minigun and power armor, putting him back in his normal clothing, but with an assault rifle in his hands. He leveled it the guy with the minigun. Unfortunetly, the son of bitch pulled the trigger first. Gideon took three bullets, two in his right arm, one in his gut. He simply grunted, then put eight bullets in his opposition. He fell backwards. He rolled to the left, behind some cover, 10mm rounds destroying the ground he was just standing on.

_Plan, plan, need a plan!_ Gideon thought. The sun was already healing his wounds, the bullets being pushed out, falling to the ground. He saw two women and and a man, bunched together. They were all using 10mm SMGs to keep him pinned while the rest circled around. Making a decision, he deatomized a frag grenade and pulled out the pin. He threw it over the rock. As soon as it went off, he came out of cover, mowing down another four.

Doing a quick headcount, he found six were still alive. He atomized his assault rifle and deatomized two trench knifes. Jumping over his cover, he punched the nearest Khan in the face, the spikes on the guard killing him. He made a horizontal slash, slitting another Khan's throat. Then the knifes were gone, replaced by a 9mm pistol in each hand. Two shots, two dead Khans. He turned, ready to finish suit.

He was greeted by the sight of Blondie. The man was far larger close up, and had a furious expression on his face, one you had on when someone killed your friends. Gideon raised his pistols and emptied out the clips, but that just seemed to enrage the man even more, the bullets seemingly reflecting off his chest. The massive blonde man struck out at Gideon, but, being the experienced man he was, the his used his more agile size and manner to dodge the attack.

Noticing the Blondie's knife at his side, Gideon atomized his pistols and resigned himself to a fist fight. The Khan threw a strong left punch, and Gideon let it hit him, ignoring the pain and moving with the attack to his opponent's side and back.

The unexpected momentum caused the last Khan to stumble forward, and he was unable to right himself before the back of Gideon's own fist collided with the back of his head. He tumbled forward, but the larger man was smart enough to curl into a roll and wind up on his feet. Standing as if nothing had happened, Blondie charged forward, dropping down.

Using a move than had long ago saved him from a charging super mutant, Gideon jumped forward as if he was about to roll. His hands reached Blondie's back, and Gideon was easily able to pull up his legs and push off of his larger opponent's back, making his size, a usual advantage, a great weakness.

With surprising dexterity, the Khan was able to turn on a dime and pull the same attack. Not expecting it or having as much time to react, Gideon felt the full force of the Khan's tremendous shoulder. He was lifted off his feet, and Blondie continued on plowing forward until Gideon struck the same rock he had been using for cover a moment ago.

He gave a choked cry of pain as he felt three ribs break and more crack, and responded by pulling out the only weapon he never atomized, a switchblade, from a holster on his arm. He flipped it open and drove it into Blondie's back in less than a second, eliciting a small, metallic grunt from the not-so-friendly giant's lovely necklace, proving Gideon's earlier suspicions correct.

Said giant turned and threw Gideon off onto the ground, before reaching back and pulling the knife out. He stared at the blood on it blankly, as if the idea of being hurt was entirely foreign to him, before narrowing his eyes and throwing the small blade down. He then drew his own knife and started towards Gideon.

By now, Gideon's mysterious healing mutation was fixing his ribs, but they were not entirely cured before Chance was on him again. The man brought the knife down in a stab meant for Gideon's head, but the smaller man simply reached up and grabbed Blondie's wrist, stopping the killing blow.

He then broke the Khan's wrist with a practiced ease, causing him to drop the knife, and kneed him in the Khan family jewels. A higher-pitched whine came from the box, and Blondie fell to his knees, face contorted with a pain only mothers and his fellow unfortunate men could understand.

Gideon reached down and grabbed the dropped knife, ready to end his opponent, when five gunshots rang out.

Gideon stumbled forward, feeling pain explode in his back. This was all the opportunity the giant needed, siezing Gideon by the throat and lifting him about three feet off the ground. He then hit him hard enough in the stomach to break his newly mended ribs and then some.

Gideon coughed up some blood, which landed on Blondie's face. This seemed to infuriate him, and Blondie threw Gideon back about a dozen feet into another rock. His head hit the rock hard, and Gideon saw black spots dance in front of his eyes.

He heard another gunshot, and felt his chest get hit, the bullet going right above the poor man's heart. As he slipped into unconsciousness, Gideon saw Suit walk towards him cautiously, gun raised, Blondie next to him. Then he fell into the blissful blackness.

* * *

><p>Gideon awoke feeling sore, fatigued, and drowsy, but intact. He tried to stand, but found his legs were bound. Further inspection proved the same for his hands and mouth, and he mentally groaned.<p>

"-teen Khans dead!" The obviously angry voice of the blond Khan said, waking Gideon up completely. "We were up against a damn superhuman! Had you not been a coward and hidden behind a rock instead of fighting like a man, we'd be dead too!"

"Then its good I decided to let the 'Mighty Khans' handle things, huh Chance?" The sarcastic voice of Suit came back.

Gideon managed to turn himself enough to see the two, and realized that Blondie, now Chance, had grabbed Suit by the neck and lifted him up. The fool was currently choking and trying to pry the massive hand off him.

"We ARE mighty!" Chance shouted through his device. "But that guy is on a better level then me! Get it through your thick head, we got LUCKY! Had you given us the right information, we could have taken him down with a sniper or some with more guys and bigger guns!"

"T-triple!" Suit manged to choke out.

"What?" Chance asked.

"I-I'll triple your pay, the Tops is good for it!" He said in his scratchy tone.

Chance looked disgusted. Dropping Benny, he said, "Lives aren't something that you can put a price on." He said.

Suit chuckled, then grabbed his throat and rubbed it, his face distorting with discomfort. "Isn't that what you did by accepting this job? The price for that sorry fink's life and his package was ten thousand caps and that pretty voice box."

That seemed to bring Chance up short, and Benny took advantage of it. "Everything in the Mojave has a price, even a man's life. You just have to name it. My price for the lost Khans is twenty thousand caps."

Chance's face became more contemplative, then he said, "The living need the money, and Jessup would say that too. Fifty thousand, Benny, or I snap your neck right now, let this guy go, and bury you."

Suit looked reluctant to pay that much, but he nodded, obviously finding his life more valuable than fifty thousand caps.

"Take care of this guy, too." Chance said. "I've buried enough bodies today. Meet me at the bar when your done." He then walked away. Benny walked over to Gideon, muttering angry curses. Once he got to the blond, he sighed and looked down at him.

"Sorry you had to get mixed up in this." He said. "Name's Benny, by the way. Not that it matters, considering I'll have to kill you soon." Gideon already knew this, but hearing it said made him tug the bonds frantically, thinking, _'I can't die here, dammit! Not after all I've survived, not with everybody depending on me!'_

"All over this." Benny continued, pulling out the Platinum Chip Gideon had decided to deliver."The key to the most powerful Pre-War technology in the world. A virtually unstoppable army." He dropped the delivery in his pocket.

He shook his head mournfully. "You just got dealt the wrong cards. Had the perfect poker face, knew just when to hold, when to fold. You just got dealt the exact wrong cards to get you out of the game, so I could get the chip, the royal flush."

He reached to his side and pulled out a gun. "Sorry about this. I know you probably have family, friends. People who'll miss you. But wounds heal quick in this place. They have to." He pointed the gun at Gideon's head. "You probably think you have the shittiest luck in the world."

He turned off the safety. "But the truth was, the game was rigged from the start."

_'NO!' _Gideon thought, struggling frantically.

Benny pulled the trigger.

There was a bang, then another, and the crows surrounding the graveyard flew away.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Forgetting

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><p>Robert House watched the many screens around his own view-screen, taking in the information from his many agents across his desert, for it was his. He had defended it when none had been able to, and soon he would be able to take it from the fools of the Legion and NCR alike.<p>

He had had his agent, Victor, follow the courier carrying his package. Victor had watched the fight, and through him, so had House. He had been tempted to allow Victor to step in, but decided to see what kind of hands his package was in. And for the first time in centuries, he was impressed.

The courier had acquitted himself well throughout the entire engagement, cutting through Benny and his Khans like a warm knife through butter. When he had met that brute of a Khan, he had shown impressive melee skills, something House could appreciate as a former boxer, and would have won if not for the underhanded move from the leader of the Chairmen.

When the man had fallen, House had considered stepping in and saving the courier, but when he noticed the man's healing factor, which he would need to look into, he let things go. Victor transmitted the entire conversation between Benny and the Khan, Chance, and the subsequent attempted killing.

He was mildly impressed by Benny's way with words, but he was more focused on the courier. He allowed the man to be buried, then had Victor dig him up and take him to the Goodsprings's doctor.

This man could prove to a resource to House almost as valuable as the platinum chip he had been carrying, and Robert House was not one to waste.

* * *

><p>Doctor Mitchell Winston, or 'Doc Mitchell', as he had come to be known, was roused from bed by a knocking on the door. He had gotten out of bed and thrown off his usual clothing before answering the door.<p>

He had been surprised to find Victor, and even more surprised when the robot had thrown a body through his door and rolled off, saying in an off-handed manner that the body was alive with a bullet in his head. Mitchell had immediately picked up the body and rushed it to his operation room.

Once he had started to work, he found that there were in fact two shots, and they had gone into his brain. He had set to work with his scalpel and tweezers, removing the bullets and sewing his patient up. Once he was done, all there was was to wait until the man woke up.

The next two days, he went about his business. He talked to the entire town about his patient, where they thought he had come from, and they all had their ideas. Sunny said he was probably some sorry bastard who Victor found. Trudy said the robot was up to something, but the man was probably what Sunny said. Pete gave the best advice, which was that Mitchell would know when the guy woke up.

A trader named Ringo arrived too, bringing trouble with him, but Mitchell did his best to ignore that. His fighting days were over.

By the morning of the third day, Mitchell was pleasantly surprised to find is patient stirring. He sat by the bed, then waited.

* * *

><p>Gideon didn't have two uneventful days sleeping. Instead, he was having an internal war.<p>

* * *

><p><em>He was at the Mills, jumping off the cliff. His duel Trench Knifes sank into the Behemoth's back. He was scaling it, making a steady rythm. Out, stab, climb, out, stab, climb. He could hear the raiders bullets around him, hitting the Behemoth. One bullet hit his calf. He didn't care. What did he have to live for? He reaches the head, and starts stabbing repeatedly. The Behemoth moans in pain. He atomizes the knifes, deatomizes a saw-off shotgun. He shoves it against the back of his head, and pulls the trigger. It falls foward-<em>

_He's in Anchorage, Jingwei's sword comes down. He steps forward, side-steps the attack. He plunges the knife into Jingwei's heart. A look of surprise goes across Jingwei's face as he falls-_

_Three trogs surround him. One jumps at him. He ducks, reaches up, grabbing it's head. A swift twist kills it. He rolls to the left, out of the reach, pulls out Wild Bill's sidearm. Three shots enter the savage's head. It's still. The fledgeling tackles him. He can't aim. It tries to bite him-_

_He feels the bullet pierce his abdomen. He grunts in pain, but pulls the trigger. Click. No ammo. He was screwed. He sees the green bastard level the Hunting Rifle. Sorry, Dad, Amata. He thinks. Bang!-_

_He's above a women, with bedraggled red hair. She moans as he fucks her-_

_There's a satisfying wet sound as the sword leaves Pluckett's gut. He leans over, cuts off the man's finger. Easy thousand caps. He laughs-_

_He runs toward the exit. Shit, he thinks, glad I found those codes. Enclave Solider aims. Fires. He ducks, pulls trigger three times. The solider falls, dead. He runs out the door, only to see something unbelivable. A Super Mutant he was happy to see-_

_Lasers shoot out of its eyes. My God, he thinks. We are definetly going to win this. He follows it to the Memorial. It leaves a path of destruction in its wake. He goes to the rotunda, kicks in the door, ready to avenge his father-_

_Nothing. Blackness. He's alone. Alone. Forever. They're gone. All GONE!_

* * *

><p>He awoke to a voice saying "Huh, your awake." He sat up, registering an old man and medical equipment. Then his vision went blurry, and he felt sick. "Easy there" the old man said, placing a hand on his chest and pushing him back down onto the bed beneath him. "You've been out cold for a couple of days now. Relax a second. Get your bearings." He stopped for a moment, then continued. "Lets see what the damage is. What is your name?"<p>

He thought for a moment. What was his name? He searched his mind, and found the oddest thing. He remembered how to shoot a bottle cap out of the air with one shot from an assault rifle, but he couldn't remember ever doing so. He knew he could absorb radiation, but could never remember doing so, or being irradiated. He knew he had several thousand caps deatomized in his pip-boy, but didn't know how he got them, or the pip-boy, for that matter.

The only personal things he remembered was a face and a number. The face was female, dark-skinned, with black hair. But the best thing about her was her eyes. They made him want to melt. They made him feel safe. The number was...

"Hey" the old man said. "You still with me?"

"My name is 101" he said.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Testing

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><p>"Strange name, but I've heard stranger." the old man finally said after a dumbstruck moment. "Mine's Doc Mitchell. Welcome to Goodsprings. "That's all I remember." 101 said. Doc Mitchell looked surprised, then spoke. "That it? Really?" "No, I also know I was suppose to deliver a package to Vegas, and someone in a checkered suit stole it." It's not suprising, seeing as you had a bullet in your head." Doc Mitchell responded.<p>

"Well, You may not remember what you look like, but you should see the face you have. Never know if it might get you in trouble." he finished, handing 101 a mirror.

101 looked at his face. It was very thin, and extremely long. His eyes were a deep blue, seemingly flecked with gold. His cheekbones were a high on his face, but neither shallow or pronounced. His nose was a roman's, long and prominent, sellion high on his face. His jaw, like the rest of his mug, was long and thin, his chin long, as well as broad. His skin was very tan, similar to bronze, while his hair was a golden blond. It was long and hanging around his head, bangs just above his eyes. It was unsettling how easily that cold blind him. He had facial hair, which he guessed counted as a rough beard. He seemed to be in his mid twenties. Overall, he thought he was good-looking, in a rough sort of way.

"I think it'll be pretty easy to get laid with a face like this." he said with a shrug, a crooked smile adorning his face. Then he frowned. "What do you mean it could get me in trouble?" 101 asked, a questioning look on his face

After recovering his composer, lost due to 101's unexpected statement, along with the nonchalant way he said it, he answered "Crazy people out in the wasteland are set off by anything. Once a man tried to kill me because I reminded him of his dad" 101 quirked an eyebrow, then shrugged.

"But on to more important matters," Doc Mitchell continued. "Do you at least remember how you got that hole in your noggin?"

"I remember the son of a bitch who did it." 101 answered, but there was no anger evident in his voice. In fact, there was mirth. "Should thank him. Now I have something to do, in the form off killing him, and taking back the package he stole from me."

Doc Mitchell looked a bit disturbed. He really hoped he wasn't talking to one of those unhinged types he had just warned 101 about. Then again, he supposed he might feel the same way in the blond man's position. Of course, a bullet to the head would probably put him six feet under.

Coming out of his musings, Doc Mitchell told his patient to walk over to the Vigor Tester. After the tests, which consisted of a seeing test, strength tests, being hit, a written exam, making a speech, shuffling a deck, and many card games with said deck were done, he went over 101's results.

ST:10  
>PN:8<br>EN:10  
>CH:9<br>IN:9  
>AG:10<br>LK:10

The good docter nearly did a double take. _I have NEVER seen stats that high! This guy is closest to perfect I've ever seen, at least in this manner._

101 was just as suprised. After opening and closing his mouth, he finally found coherent words. "Wow." he said, awed and struck dumb. "I'm not exactly normal, am I Doc?" Doc Mitchell could only nod in agreement.

Once they had picked their jaws up off of the floor, Doc Mitchell ushered 101 to the couch. There they began the test.

* * *

><p>Doc Mitchell had seen some strange things in his time, but this man, this 101 took the cake. First off, he survived a bullet to the head, which was impressive, and certainly not common. Then he has amnesia, only remembering his name, which was a number he'd expect on a vault. Next, he goes and has almost perfect S.P.E.C.I.A.L stats. That was amazing, no, it was extrordinary. Not many people managed to get a stat above the average five, and he doesn't have a single stat below nine!<p>

Mitchell remembered hearing stories about four men, two couriers, two legends, with perfect stats. One had dropped off the map, one was a renowned bounty hunter/courier, and the legends had both carved their names in history and died since, as far as he knew. It made Mitchell wonder both who he was dealing with and why Mitchell had never heard of him before.

Then there's the guy's mental test. He had no idea if 101 was sane or not, but he was cetaintly unique. He had no opinion on any of his statments, which was probably because he could do it all. Whenever Mitchell said a word, 101 would say something entirely unexpected. Examples were when he said house, 101 said atom and when he said dog, 101 said meat.

While Mitchell was aware what the harsh realities of the wasteland forced some people to do, the fact that 101 first said meat was slightly disturbing. Atom was very strange, and it reinforced the theory that the man before the doctor was an outlander, from far away lands.

"Any way I might remember what I forgot?" 101 asked, an indifferent look on his face. startling Mitchell from his thoughts. 101, while he would like his memories back, didn't really care. If he had had a good life, he couldn't remember it. If his life sucked brahmin ass, this was the perfect chance to start all over. So he didn't think he could lose.

"There are three possibilities." Doc Mitchell responded. "Certain things may cause a partial recall. These could eventually build up, and return all your memories." 101 nodded in understanding. "Another possibilty is that you could have a total recall, in which you will remember everything at once. Multiple partial recalls make this more likely. The last possibilty is-"

"I could not remember anything." 101 finished for him, grimacing at the thought.

"Yeah, pretty much." Doc Mitchell answered. "Well, you seem to be alright, if not exactly normal."

"Maybe." 101 said in an amused tone. "But normal is not a word that fits anything in our war-torn world."

"Ain't that the truth?" Mitchell sighed.

* * *

><p>As they walked to the door, 101 noticed his near-nudity. "You know if I was wearing anything when I was shot?" He asked.<p>

"Yeah, wait here a moment." Doc Mitchell said, turning into a hallway near the door.

When he returned, he thrust a merc grunt outfit in 101's hands, along with a trench coat and satchel. The coat was black and worn, but the odd thing about it was the back. Sown on was a piece of fabric. It seemed to be made of blue polyester, taken from a vault suit. In big yellow characters, it said "101".

Our 101 stared at the number for awhile, thinking it might trigger a recall. Sadly, all that happened was Doc Mitchell giving him a funny look. "You must be from far away." The doctor said. "Never seen a vault numbered over thirty in these parts."

"Is that so?" 101 mused. "Well, I'll have something to go by once I take care of the man responsible.

"I'll assume you have any other possessions deatomized in your pip-boy." The Doctor guessed. In response, a 44. Magnum appeared in 101's right hand. "Then he quirked an eyebrow. "How do you know about Pip-Boys?"

"Come from Vault 21, on the Strip. You see anyone from there on your travels, tell them Mitchell says hello." 101 nodded.

"Well, thanks for everything, Doc" 101 said after dressing, his crooked grin back on his face.

"No problem." Doc Mitchell said. "You need any help getting back in the saddle, go see Sunny Smiles in the saloon."

101 nodded, smiled, and walked out the door, only to be blinded by a bright flash of light that was the sun. When the light disappeared, well, Dorthy, we're not in Goodsprings anymore.

* * *

><p><em>He ran down the hallway towards the vault entrance. He still couldn't believe what had happened. He still couldn't believe Jonas was dead. He still couldn't believe he'd left the Overseer alive...<em>

_He was brought back to reality by the sound of radroaches. He pulled his baseball bat off his back, dropping his pistol, and smashed a leaping radroach in the side. It hit the wall, dead. Before the rest could move, he'd smashed one against the ground, guts exploding all over the ground. The last one began scurrying away, but didn't get very far before meeting the same fate as its compatriots._

_He ran his hand through his clean cut hair, ruffling it slightly, and picked up his pistol while sheathing across his back, trying to distract himself from the fact that radroaches hadn't been the only thing he'd killed today. Kendell, Hannon, Richards, O'Brien... **NO!** Those two killed these Holdens! They deserved to **DIE-** Where did that thought come from? They were still people, following orders. They had families to care about. Still, Mack's death gave him no guilt._

_Mack had hurt Amata. Nobody hurt her, not over his dead body. She and his dad. They were all he had left. He felt the velvet box in his pocket. The ring... dad had to leave..._

_He came to the vault door. He went to the control panel, and took in a deep breath. This was the point of no return. No, he thought, it's not. The point of no return was the second his bat hit Officer Kendall's neck. He ran his hand through his hair again, messing it up even worse. He pulls the lever. Siren's sounded, and he heard the squeal of metal on metal. He turned, and saw the face..._

_"Amata!" he yells. "My god, you actually did it!" she responds, eyes sparkling with amazement._

_"Stop them!" He hears a male voice shout._

_He turns, only to receive a police baton to the face. As he falls, he sees Officer Wolf pin Amata to the control panel, his hand encircling her throat. He sees red, deatomizing his 10mm pistol into his hand. He rolls back on his feet, avoiding the baton strike. He doesn't care his jaw is throbing, he will kill Wolf for hurting Amata! In less than a second, Wolf had a shot in his head, falling back, away from Amata. He turns, leveling the gun at the other officer, who he identifies as Parks. Before he can pull the trigger, Parks drops his baton and runs._

_He drops the pistol, and kneels by Amata. She is leaning against the control panel. He reaches towards her, and she jumps on him, clutching him for dear life._

_They stay like that for a moment, and he says "Come with me, Love." "No" she says. "I'd die out there. We both know it." He looks at her, and nods, his eyes watering. He blinks back tears, and then takes a knee. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a small box. Amata lets out a small gasp, her mouth forming an "O"._

_"Amata Almodovar, this vault has gone to hell. But once everything is back to normal, once your father has come to his senses, and once I bring mine back, will you marry me? You make me happy, and I think I do the same for you, and no matter what happens, I want to be with you for the rest of my life." His voice is filled with hope. Her answer is half his life._

_"Yes!" she says. Her voice an excited whisper. He slips the ring on her finger, and captures her lips in a kiss. They pull apart, and he walks out the entrance to the vault. Vault 101. His home. He turns back, sees Amata one last time. They are both crying, but smiling through their tears. She reaches for the lever, and pulls it. The door screeches closed. He turns exit to the wasteland, and runs his hand through his hair yet again. He sees a puddle of water, and notices his golden hair sticking up in every direction. He chuckles. He would call this hairstyle Waster, in honer of his new temporary home._

_He sees skeletons with signs, saying things along the lines of "Let us in ASSHOLES!" and "We're Fucking DYING Bastards!" He walks to the door, breaths deeply, and opens the door. He is blinded by a flash of light..._

* * *

><p>101 stood there, blinked, and thought, <em>'P<em>_artial recall. That was an odd experience, almost lost myself in the memory. It explains a lot, though. Amata... Does she still mean to me what she did in the memory?'_

_'Well hell, I just have to go with it, I suppose, and hope for enough answers to find someone with all the answers.' _Resigned to this plan, he continued on his way to the saloon, unconsciously running his hand through his hair.

* * *

><p><strong>101's Stats<strong>

**Barter:50**

**Energy Weapons: 75**

**Explosives:50**

**Guns:90**

**Lockpick:90**

**Medicine:70**

**Melee Weapons:90**

**Repair:75**

**Science:75**

**Sneak:70**

**Speech:75**

**Survival:60**

**Unarmed:80**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Loss

* * *

><p>Huh. He hoped all bars in the Mojave weren't like this, cause if all bars involved nearly getting mauled by a dog, no bartender, and the only person trying to get in his pants a blond, he would be sober for a long while. If your wondering why the blond was so bad, <span>he<span> had very pretty eyes.

Just as the the blond was walking toward him, a red-head in leather armor ordered the dog to stand down, and got in the blond's path.

"You must be the one Doc Mitchell was patching up." she said, holding out her hand. "I'm Sunny Smiles. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too, Sunny. My name is 101. I think." he replied, grabbing her hand and shaking.

She quirked an eyebrow. "What do you mean, you think?"

"I got shot in the head. You honestly think I'd come out of this without something wrong with me? I can only remember two things clearly, and a jumbled mash of flashes. Just glad my motor functions aren't shot to hell."

"Well, yeah. I couldn't imagine not being able to remember my life in Goodsprings. I have it pretty good here, and to not remember it... that would be horrible..." she said, shaking her head.

"You'd be fine." He said, giving her a slightly annoyed look. She was about to protest, when he stopped her by saying, "You wouldn't know if your life was anything worth remembering. More than likely, you'd look at it the same way I do." He paused, breathed, then continued. "If your life sucked Brahmin ass, you could start over. If it was good, you wouldn't know, and you could just build another good life. If I see something that looks familiar, I'll check it out, see if it causes a recall, see if I remember something. But I sure as hell won't go out of my way. I appreciate the concern, but ask my opinion on my condition before you try to sympathize" He finished, a neutral look on his face.

She tried to form a response, but his words had stopped her brain from moving past a single thought. _Is he right? _Would she not care? No, she supposed she wouldn't. Until someone from Goodsprings told he about her life. She knew she would live her entire life in Goodsprings. She would sooner die than leave. If she lost her memory, she would end up back here, and she would remember the second she saw the saloon, Cheyenne, and her house.

"You still with me?" 101 asked, snapping his fingers in front of her face.

"Yeah." She said. "Sorry if I was being presumptuous, but I really do think it'd be different for me. I'm never far from Goodsprings, and would always be around things and people to remind me."

"True." He responded with a shrug. "But on to other matters, less serious ones. Thanks for stopping that guy from talking to me. At least I know which way I swing, huh?"

She giggled, which was fairly out of character for her. Something about this man made her feel more protected, more at-ease, more light-hearted. "Yeah. It would be pretty darn bad if you regained your memory with something shoved up your-"

"Anyway!" He half shouted, his voice betraying a decent amount of panic. This, of course, caused Sunny to break into another fit of giggles. " Doc Mitchell told me you could help 'Get back in the saddle' if you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I got a little homemade shooting range out behind the Saloon. We can go get the kinks outta your system." She said. What she thought was, _'That could have a lot of meanings, and I'd be fine with most of them.'_

"Well, we can do that on the pool table, I just need to make sure I can still aim a gun." He said, a crooked sort of smirk on his face.

She smacked him upside his head, trying to hide her blush and pretending part of her didn't want to say yes. "Lets just go shoot some sarsaparilla bottles."

As they walked towards the backdoor, they were both deep in thought. Sunny was wondering exactly what kind of life 101 had lead before getting shot in the head.

101, of course, was still on the whole, _Where the fuck is the bartender! _thing. Getting shot makes one thirsty, after all.

* * *

><p>"You'll need something to shoot with." Sunny said, turning to pick up a Varmint rifle she'd left against the fence. They were next to a fence opposite another fence with multiple bottles lined up on it. Just as her hand closed around the rifle, she heard 3 quick gunshots. Spinning on her heel, she saw 101 with a Hunting rifle aimed at the last few bottles, the rest nothing but shards on the ground.<p>

"Where the hell did you get that!" She shouted, surprise evident on her face.

"Found it?" he said, in a manner that made it more of a question than an answer, pulling the trigger and making another cascade of yellow-tinted glass. After seeing her 'Tell me the truth or I will shove my foot so far up your ass you'll have toes for teeth' look, he sighed and leaned back against the fence.

"It's my Pip-boy. It's something called atomization. It basically means that it breaks things down into their base components, which are atoms. Still with me?" She nodded, and he continued. "It will then add these atoms to my own personal mass, understand? It's sorta like walking around with a bars of lead strapped to each limb."

"I think I understand. Is there a limit to how much you can carry?" Sunny was truly curious now. She knew Doc Mitchell was from a Vault, but wasn't sure exactly which one. He probably had a Pip-boy though. Maybe she could convince him to sell it to her...

"Only limited by how much weight you can move with. I can carry 350 pounds, mostly because I have an _extremely_ strong back." He replied. "From what I've seen of you, you could carry around 210 pounds."

"So, it's basically a portable warehouse, with a capacity proportional to that of your strength?" She asked, wanting to clarify.

"Pretty much." He answered.

"Wait." She said, narrowing her eyes. "I thought you couldn't remember anything?"

101 sighed. "No quite. I just can't remember anything personal. All other things, how my Pip-boy works, how to shoot a gun, how to pick a lock, all that stuff is clear as a bell. But my past is a mystery."

Sunny nodded, knowing she would probably think more on this, the Pip-boy and 101's memory, later. But right now, she had to get back to the reason they came out in the first place. "Well, you can obviously shoot. Now that I think about it, I've been meaning to go down to the ridge to take care of some Geckos. Want to come?"

He seemed to think for a moment, before nodding.

* * *

><p>They sneaked towards the first pump. 101 was still armed with his Hunting rifle, her a Varmint rifle. She nodded at him, and he recognized this to mean attack. Turning around the corner and taking aim, he shot at a gecko about ten meters away. The bullet made a solid impact on its head, blowing it to pieces. The other two charged at him, the laps of skin on their necks expanding. Pulling the back the bolt, he pulled the trigger once more, hitting the front gecko in the chest. It flew back full two feet before landing with a thud. He waited until the last one was almost upon him before pulling the trigger, its head exploding in a similar fashion to the first.<p>

"Nice shooting!" Sunny complimented, something she didn't do very often. She didn't think she could have done better herself. He put that same crooked grin on his face. For some reason, that made her go a little weak at the knees. Regaining her composure, she said, "There are a few more pumps to check. You can go back if you want, but you can come with too."

He looked confused. "Why the hell would I come all this way just to go back after doing half my job?" He asked.

She shrugged, wondering why she'd brought it up. (A/N Seriously, anybody else find that weird?)

101 blinked. "You just get the feeling some 14-year-old kid with complete control over our existences just questioned why you said that?"

Sunny blinked a few times. "No... That was oddly specific."

101 shrugged. "Its a wild wasteland."

She nodded in total agreement. "Well come on, we have some geckos to deal with."

They snuck up to the next pump, the only sound being a slightly growling Cheyenne. 101 frowned. He wasn't sure if Sunny had as good a control on her dog as she seemed to think. Unfortunately, his suspicions proved correct when Cheyenne charged at the geckos at first sight, unbidden. "Cheyenne, stay!" Sunny shouted, but he knew it was a futile effort.

To Cheyenne's credit, the first gecko fell quickly. It had its throat ripped out before it could turn around. The next one was killed just as quickly, her jaw clamped on its skull. Before she could go after the last one, though, the Gecko had its own jaw around her torso.

Both he and Sunny took the shot, hitting the gecko in the right arm and chest. Its jaw left Cheyenne's middle, blasting back. The dog fell to the ground, whimpering in pain. They both ran for the dog, Sunny somehow managing to get in front. They both kneeled by the wounded animal.

"Do you have any bandages, stimpacks, something? I can't lose Cheyenne! I can't-" Sunny started, but she was cut off when she had to catch two Stimpaks and a dose of Med-X.

"You tend to Cheyenne. I'll go check the last pump, if you'll point me in the right direction." 101 said, though it sounded more like an order. Normally, this would annoy her, but Cheyenne had her attention right now. She pointed over a cliff, and, surprisingly, he just jumped.

* * *

><p>101 jumped off the cliff, noticing the young girl being attacked by geckos. His sword, Vampire's Edge, was in his hands as he fell.<p>

Some might find the way he landed quite comical. He thought it was pretty damn funny, and effective. 101 landed full on top of one's head, crushing it below his feet, the funny part being it made a _splat _noise like old pre-war cartoons did. The one next to it was impaled by his sword, making a gecko-ka-bob, excuse the bad attempt at humor. Pulling out his sword, he turned to the last one, only to see the girl pulling her cleaver out of its head.

She adopted a grateful expression, before saying, "Thanks. Had you not come along, I would have been gecko food."

101 just nodded, then ran at the ledge he'd just jumped down from, grabbing the edge and hauling himself up. She called to ask his name, but he was all focused on helping Cheyenne.

* * *

><p>101 noted three things as he was running towards Sunny. First, she was openly crying into Cheyenne's fur. The second was the used Stimpaks and Med-X nearby. The third was Cheyenne's still chest. Upon closer inspection, he realized that the gecko's teeth had punctured Cheyenne's heart, and maybe one of her lungs.<p>

He put his hand on Sunny's shoulder, and said, "I'm sorry, she's dead. And then he wasn't in Goodsprings anymore.

* * *

><p><em>He, Dogmeat, and Cross charged at the five enclave soldiers. He took aim with his Xuanlong Assault rifle, and two enclave fell to a spray of bullets. Another flew a good ten feet back as Cross hit him with the Super Sledge. One of the last soldiers was taken out by Dogmeat, the officer's neck being ripped out. Then Dogmeat was hit with a plasma blast.<em>

_He saw red, his gun replaced by a combat knife. He charged forward, stabbing the power-armored foe repeatedly. He was running back to Dogmeat. The dog had stopped breathing. "No," he shouted, "you can't die!"_

_Cross puts her hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," she says, "he's dead."_

* * *

><p>He was back in Goodsprings. He stared at Sunny, her face red and puffy from crying. He took off his jacket, draping it over Cheyenne's body. Picking up the corpse, he started to walk back towards Goodsprings, Sunny following close behind. For some reason, she didn't question him, and he had a feeling he had been on both ends of this proverbial stick.<p>

As they approached the town, he turned his back to Sunny, and asked her were she wanted to bury the body. She started leading him towards the backyard of a house he assumed was her's, looking like a zombie.

"You have a shovel and a slab of rock or wood?" he asked her. She walked into the house, looking the picture of defeat. A minute later, she came out with a shovel. "The other thing?" he questioned.

She pointed to a rock a few feet away. He nodded, the told her to dig a grave. He walked over to the rock, and pulled it free of the dirt. Deatomizing some steel knuckles, he started pounding the stone into a decent shape. Once it resembled a grave marker, he atomized his unarmed weapon, grabbing a particularly sharp piece of nearby rock, and carved 'Cheyenne' into the stone. He turned around.

"What do you want it to say, besides her name?" he shouted. She just looked at him for a second, then said in a hollow, hoarse voice, "A good friend." He carved the words into he stone. Lifting up the stone, he put it at the head of the grave. It was about 5 feet deep, which was pretty good considering Sunny had been at it for only two hours.

Unwrapping Cheyenne's body, he lowered it into the grave, and put back on his coat. He took the shovel from an exhausted Sunny. He filled the grave with the dirt that had recently been displaced, and turned to see a dead looking Sunny.

"Wanna go to he bar?" He asked. "Good a time as any to get hammered." She just nodded, and they started towards the saloon.

* * *

><p>They sat down in front of the bar, someone finally there serving drinks. "Beer." He said to the woman. The bartender turned to him and smiled, despite his rudeness. "You must be the one Doc Mitchell was fixing. My name is Trudy. Yours?"<p>

"101." He grunted. Trudy then turned to Sunny, who was looking terrible, and said, "Howdy, Sunny. Where is Cheyenne?" At this, Sunny broke into a fresh round of tears. Trudy turned at him, a concerned look on her face, and he merely said "Geckos." She nodded, her face growing somber, and tossed him a beer, her some whiskey. In less than a minute, both their drinks were gone.

Trudy had some more drinks in front of them in less than a second. It continued like this, Sunny staying on whiskey, 101 drinking everything from vodka to scotch. By the end, Sunny was smashed, done crying, but still hollow-looking. He was a little past buzzed, despite the fact that he'd drank more than her.

He looked at Trudy. "What do we owe you?" He asked. "Her, nothing." Trudy answered, a sad smile on her face. " You, 237 caps." Reaching into his pocket, he deatomized the caps into his hand, not wanting to explain his Pip-boy again. Depositing them on the counter, he didn't bother waiting for her to count them. He wasn't planning on leaving anytime soon, so she could see him if she wanted more later.

Picking her up bridal-style, and ignoring her drunken protest, he took her back to her house. Briefly searching her house, he found the bed. He tried to put her down, but her arms were firmly locked around his neck. When their eyes met, she began kissing him.

101 didn't know how to react in this situation, but something told him to just go with it. But a voice, a whisper in his head told him to go with it. This voice was actually Gideon Heart, the Lone Wanderer, or, rather, his memories and personality. It was how this personality and these memories would respond in this situation, despite the fact that he wasn't in control, it subconsciously told him the best reaction.

Gideon Heart knew there were four types of sex in the wasteland. Sex that was paid for. Sex for pleasure, which was basically fucking. Sex done out of love, which was making love. The last was sex for comfort. This was usually done after loss. And that was what happened that night. Pleasure that served as a distraction from the pain of loss.

* * *

><p><em>Ugh... Oh, my fucking head. I'm glad Cheyenne isn't barking this morning. <em>Then the events of then previous day hit her like a mini-nuke. _Cheyenne... my partner. _She couldn't believe Cheyenne was gone. She had been prepared to out live her dog, but Sunny never thought she would lose Cheyenne to geckos.

People died all the time in the wasteland, in less dangerous professions. Despite how close she was to Cheyenne, she was still just a dog. It didn't make it hurt any less, but it did make it easier to let go.

Then she realized her head was on a man's chest.

Looking up slightly, angling her head to where she could see his face. She wasn't very surprised to see it was 101, but it still shocked her that she would just sleep with somebody. Then again, she had no memory past her seventh drink, and she'd probably drank a lot more than that, judging by her hangover.

101 was an enigma. He gets shot in the head, yet miraculously survives. When he wakes up, he claims to have no recollection of his past, yet still remembers everything else. He is heavily armed, and has what is definitely the most useful survival tool in the wasteland. He then comes on her usual hunting trip, in which her closest friend dies. Instead of telling her to suck it up, that it was just a dog, he tells her he's sorry, but Cheyenne is dead. She knew she would have stayed by the her faithful hound's corpse all night, had someone not been there. He then spaces out for a few seconds, wraps her dog in his coat, and carries it back to town. He makes a tombstone for Cheyenne, then buries her friend in the hole Sunny had dug. He then did exactly what Sunny had wanted, taking her to the saloon to get stone blind drunk. She wasn't sure how, but then he'd had sex with her, which she had more than likely instigated.

He was truly a strange man.

She weighed her options, then decided to go back to sleep. She didn't often share her bed, as most of the men around here were faster than a speeding bullet, if you got her meaning. So, she would enjoyed while it lasted.

101, on the other hand, would've loved to

* * *

><p><em>He wasn't looking forward to this. Lucy West had sent him to give a letter to her family, but it had never gotten there. He had instead found her parents dead and her brother missing. The problem was Arefu didn't have enough supplies for him to try and find Ian. So he had to return to Megaton, and he figured Lucy deserved to know what had happened to her family.<em>

_He walked into Moriarty's, over to Lucy. She smiled, asks if he had a reply. He breaks the news to her. Then comes the tears he was dreading. He walked her to the bar, gives Gob a look that says, 'Give her as much of your strongest drink as she can handle!' Gob nodded, giving her a shot of whiskey, him a beer. An hour later, he's halfway done with his second beer, and Lucy had gone through four bottles of whiskey._

_Gob jerked his head toward Moriarty, who is eying Lucy with lust, lust for the money he would make off selling her body, and lust for using it himself. Bastard would probably sell her enough drink to where she couldn't pay, have to become like Nova. He'd then charge her for room, board, saying she had to be here at all times. Have her trapped, exactly like Nova._

_He'd taken the West job because he needed the money to make the trip to Vault 112, but he'd started to care for Lucy. So he stopped her from drinking anymore, left just enough caps on the table to pay the for the drinks, and a tip for Gob. Picking Lucy up, despite her drunken protest, he began walking back to her place._

_He'd need to get rid of Moriarty. He wasn't good for Megaton. He stopped it from becoming a more prosperous settlement with his grip on the economy. Andy Stahl liked to think his place was more popular, but if Jenny wasn't such a sweet girl, they'd not have any customers. The only way the Lantern could compete was if Andy started whoring out his sister. Add that to the fact that the town would be at Moriarty's mercy should he out-live Simms, Megaton's position was not favorable._

_But right now, he had to deal with Lucy. Grateful that the door was unlocked, he walked into her house, found her bed and lowered her onto it, but her arms were clamped around his neck. She pulled close to him, crushing her lips to his._

_At this point, shock took over his system. She pulled his shirt over his head, leaving him naked from the waist up. Back in the vault, he'd always been fit, but never really ripped, like his childhood hero Grognak. It was funny, how he had had the most muscled in the back home, even among the guards. The wasteland had changed that. He had the muscle mass to be really ripped, but a lack of any kind of fat on his face, stomach, or anywhere. The two months in the wasteland had taken away his healthy, vault body and replaced it with that of a survivalist._

_She began to go for his pants, but he stopped her, gently pushing her away. He loved Amata, and as soon as he retrieved his father from Vault 112, he would marry her. Then he looked in her eyes._

_They were scared, dark. They spoke of despair and pain, the pain of loss. They wanted an escape from that, even if only for a night. They didn't care what it was, drugs, alcohol, sex. And he allowed her to continue, because in the wasteland, the best way to deal with grief was to move on. Some people needed help moving on._

_Pretty soon, they were completely naked. He looked over her body, and had to admit, he liked what he saw. Lucy wasn't the first time he'd seen a naked woman. No, he had seen Amata nude the same night he'd lost his virginity, and quite a few Playboy centerfolds, which he'd received from his father. Dad really missed mom..._

_Realizing she was probably feeling like a slab of meat under his gaze, he tried to meet her eyes. The problem was, she was observing his body with just as much scrutiny._

_He cleared his throat, and she looked up, blushing. He smiled, and gently pressed his lips against hers. She had to get on her toes to deepen the kiss, do to their height difference. She pushed him back against the bed, and he moaned as his hardened member pressed against her thigh. She lifted herself up, positioning his dick at the entrance of her womanhood. She meet his eyes, and plunged down._

_He wasn't a virgin, this had already been established. But Lucy had obviously had many partners. She moved her pelvis in ways he hadn't thought possible, showing him whole new levels of pleasure. The first time with Amata had been, while pleasurable, fairly stiff and awkward. This... wasn't._

_Lucy began to slow down, and he realized she'd been doing all the moving. He grabbed her waist and flipped them over, putting him on top. He started out slow, each thrust slowly picking up speed, until he was pounding her, a slapping sound coming every second. Pushing against his chest, she turned them over, barley keeping them on the bed. She took over, each time she moved pushing him closer to the edge._

_As they both neared their climax, he was surprisingly quiet, simply grunting every few seconds, the occasional moan thrown in. Lucy, on the other hand was screaming in pleasure. As he climaxed, he let out a final moan, cumming inside her. Lucy screamed her loudest yet before finishing. She collapsed onto his chest, and they both fell into a blissful sleep_

* * *

><p>101 awoke, in a cold sweat. The only thing that stopped him from jumping out of bed was the head on his chest, and his slight headache. He turned his head, and saw Sunny snuggling into his body, making a small purring noise. Suppressing a chuckle, so he would not disturb her, he lifted his right arm slightly, checking the time on his Pip-boy. 12:37.<p>

Slowly getting up, making sure she was not moved, he replaced his body with a pillow and wrote a quick note for Sunny, explaining he had gone to the saloon.

* * *

><p>He walked in, only to see Trudy being threatened by a man he immediately recognized as a criminal. Trudy told him to leave, but he refused, telling her to give him some guy named Ringo. <em>I don't like where this is going, <em>he thought. So he stepped in between them.

"I'd suggest you leave, before we have any problems." 101 told the man in jovial tones. The guy was dark-skinned, about 5'10, and had a hardened face that would make the average man feel fear.

101 wasn't average.

"Yeah, what you going to do if I say no?" The man said. "Joe Cobb doesn't listen to anybody!"

"That your boss, or is Joe Cobb too stupid to speak in the first person?" 101 retorted, a smirk on his face.

The recently identified turned an interesting shade of red, and went for his gun. Of course, by that point, 101 was in motion.

Grabbing the front of Cobb's shirt with one hand, his wrist with the other, he twisted Cobb's entire arm until he heard a sharp crack, and Cobb's scream of pain. He hefted Cobb up by his shirt, and threw him across the room into the wall.

"This town, and this Ringo, are under my protection." 101 growled, all forms of mirth gone. "It would take a lot more that some chicken shit like you to take me out."

Cobb sent him a look of fury, and ran out the back door.

"Thanks for your help, but I have a feeling you just brought a heap of trouble on yourself, and Goodsprings." Trudy said, her brow creased with worry. "The Powder Gangers are dangerous."

"Powder Gangers?" 101 asked.

"Group of criminals, broke out of a prison run by the NCR. You who they are, right?" At 101's nod, she continued. "They had the prisoners mining. Now the NCR knows better than to give a bunch of convicts dynamite."

"Hm." 101 said. "Well, I was hoping you could tell me about the men who attacked me."

Trudy raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think I'd know?" She asked.

101 actually laughed at this. "What doesn't the barkeeper know about their town?"

She laughed as well and nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I guess you're right there. But yeah, I probably saw them. What did they look like? Gotta know, just to make sure I have the right people."

"One of them," 101 said, summoning the memory. "was about as tall as me, with long blonde hair and big muscles. The other was a sleazy looking guy in a checkered suit."

"Yeah, I saw them." Trudy said, pulling out a rag and wiping down the bar. "They were real sober, but I managed to overhear them say they were going to Vegas. Don't know which route, though."

"What routes are there?" 101 asked.

"Well, there is the southern route, which can take up to five days. It'll go through Primm, then the NCR's Mojave Outpost, then Nipton, then Novac, then a lot of walking before you get to resupply at Freeside." Trudy said. "Pretty safe, though, aside from the occasional raiders."

"And the other way?" 101 asked, expecting the worse in the form of a vice-versa statement.

"North, about a day, and everything from deathclaws to cazadors to tougher raiders." Trudy said with a frown.

101 grimaced. "I'll go north first, and if it proves too much for me, I'll head back down here."

"I'd try to dissuade you," Trudy said, "but I doubt I can." He nodded, a crooked smile adorning his face, and she looked at the door with a worried expression. 101 caught this, and realized she was still worried about Cobb.

"Don't worry." 101 replied. "Old Joey probably isn't influential enough to mount a big enough assault to stop me, let alone the rest of the town."

* * *

><p>2 Days later<p>

"Maybe we shouldn't follow this Cobb guy." One of the Powder Gangers said to another in the loose, unorganized formation they were in. "I mean, he ain't as calm as Eddie, he ain't as tough as Scrambler, and he ain't as just plain hateful as Cooke."

"So?" The Powder Ganger next to him said. "He was one of the guys giving orders when the breakout went down. He ain't stupid, Mickey."

"He sure acts like it." The criminal Mickey muttered. " I mean look at him! He's a cripple. Besides, I have a bad feeling about this, Jim."

"No he don't and no he ain't.!" Jim said, proving through his grammer that he was the less educated of the two. "And feeling ain't worth nothin'! Now shut your mouth and keep walking."

Despite his grumbling, Mickey did as he was told, right up until Cobb shouted from the front to hold.

"There can't be more than three or four guys protecting this place boys!" He shouted, waving his arms towards the now in-sight sign saying 'Goodsprings'. "Against thirty of us, they can't win! Let's get this done! The loot is waiting!"

There were many shouts of agreement as the charge towards Goodsprings began, but Mickey just kept back. The last bad feeling he ignored was the one where the guy in the bed upstairs would wake up before Mickey could get out with his spoils. He wasn't going to make that mistake again.

It would turn out that he was the smartest of the group.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Annihilation

* * *

><p>"So, who is Ringo?" 101 asked Trudy. It had been about 10 minutes since Cobb had run away with his tail between his legs, and he was curious as to what Joey had wanted in the first place.<p>

"A trader." Trudy replied. "His caravan was attacked by Joe Cobb and his crew, he escaped, and now he's here, hiding. Problem is, the Powder Gangers want to make an example of Ringo."

101 nodded. "Where is Ringo?"

"Down in the old gas station, by Mitchell's house." She answered. She reached under then counter, and took out a shotgun. Grabbing a rag, she began polishing the barrel. "So, what happened with Sunny last night?"

101 looked her straight in the eyes, and said, "We had sex."

From looking at Trudy, you wouldn't guess she was a very good fighter. But the fact that she had the shotgun pointed at his face faster than he could finish the word 'sex', proved you shouldn't judge a book by its cover. 101 would never learn this, but Sunny was the second ranger for Goodsprings. When the town was first established, a man named Alexander Phillips built the bar with the refuse his brother Pete brought back, while his daughter Trudy, and her faithful hound Tex, cleared out the original gecko nest.

"How could you take advantage of her!" Trudy shouted. "So close after Cheyenne died, while she was drowning her grief in whiskey? I'll kill you, you SON OF A BITCH!"

101, unfazed by the gun in his face, spoke in a clear, calm tone. "She came onto me, for starters. Sunny wanted a distraction. Losing Cheyenne hurt her, and alcohol numbed that pain. She needed something else, though. I was available."

Trudy sighed, knowing that even the strong, like Sunny, sometimes needed some help coping, then lowered the gun. "I suppose I can't hold that against you."

He nodded, then put a mischievous smile on his face. "As it was, I was drunk too, so I can't really be held responsible for my actions." He was gone before she could recover from her surprise and kill him.

_I swear, _Trudy thought, _I get grand kids outta this, I'll kill that cocky bastard._

* * *

><p>Clasping the shoulder pad on her leather armor, Sunny went over what had happened in the last 24 hours. She'd lost Cheyenne, which had been terrible. That Cheyenne lost to a <em>gecko, <em>of all things... She then proceeded to get stone-blind drunk, and screw an almost total stranger.

"Well, that's the Mojave for ya." She said aloud. That was the best way to describe it, and making light of the situation was better than thinking about Cheyenne too much. His note said he'd be at the saloon, so she grabbed her rifle and began heading there.

* * *

><p>It seemed every other time 101 opened a door, something was ready to kill him. So when a brown haired Caucasian man leveled a 9mm pistol at him he looked to the sky, or ceiling, he supposed, gave whatever gods were up there a <em>WTF!<em> expression and screamed, "Does everybody here greet strangers by trying to kill them!"

Of course, Ringo was struck dumb by this unexpected statement. 101 took advantage of this by kicking the gun out of his hand. Ringo was shaken out of his stupor by 101's actions, and tried to retaliate with a punch to the face. 101 almost effortlessly grabbed the arm and swung Ringo around, pinning his arm to his back. He then pushed forward hard and slammed Ringo against the nearest wall, 101 in position to leave Ringo with a broken arm at the flick of the blond's wrist. He had a thing for breaking arms, good for stopping any fighters.

"Are you Ringo?" 101 asked, still cautious despite his position.

"Yes. Are you with Joe Cobb?" Ringo retorted, a steady stream of muttered curses being the next thing out of his mouth, his arm stinging slightly.

"No." 101 replied. "Trudy sent me. I'm here to help" He said, releasing Ringo from the wall. Ringo began massaging his arm, but stopped cursing. Giving Ringo a chance to speak, he was quiet for a moment. When Ringo remained the silent, 101 began speaking. "I'll bring you up to speed." He said. "I recently came upon Trudy being threatened by a stranger, who I later learned was Joe Cobb. I told him to back off, and he refused. I broke his arm, and he ran. He will probably attack soon, and with as many able bodies as possible. How many men did he attack your caravan with?"

Ringo wasn't a solider. He never had been, and never would be. But he had seen a NCR officer commanding his troops once, before the Crimson Caravans, living in Primm. He'd been there when 10 NCR troopers killed a group of 20 Vipers outside of town. The Sargent had ordered his troops, and they followed. He had always thought it was just military discipline, and it probably was. But hearing 101 talk, he wondered if it had been something else. This man had a certain aura about him, one that made you feel like things would be okay, as long as you followed him. Maybe that was how the troops had felt...

"Seven." He said, answering 101's question.

101 nodded. "They will probably come back with at least double that. We should get the town ready to defend against a reasonably large assault. I'll have to talk to Sunny and Trudy, they seem to have a pretty big sway around here. You stay here, I'll come and get you when your needed."

101 began to leave, but stopped with the door half-open. "Oh, and my name is 101."

Ringo watched 101 walk out of the building and shut the door, he knew that because of this man with the strange name, he might live to see Vegas again.

* * *

><p>101 walked back into the saloon, only to be greeted by a glaring Sunny, leaning on the pool table and sipping a bottle of water. "Hey, Sunny." He said.<p>

She raised an eyebrow, then sighed. "Trudy told me what happened. You do realize you probably brought more trouble down on Goodsprings, right?"

"Yep. I actually came to talk to you about that. You wanna join in the fight? Me and Ringo won't really have the Powder Gangers shaking in their boots." 101 said. Then he paused, and said, "Well, I would, with a big enough gun, but unlike Ringo, I have that rugged badass thing going for me."

She snorted on the sip of water she had been about to take. "Yeah." She said once she recovered. "I'm in, though I doubt I'll make much of a difference, I'm capable, not an army. You may want to enlist the help of some of the other people in town."

101 thought for a second, then said, "Good point. You know the town better, got any idea who could be really helpful?"

"Well, I know Easy Pete has some dynamite buried somewhere, enough to make the limbs fly. That could be helpful, assuming you could convince him you won't blow yourself up. Trudy could also convince some others to help us, if you could convince her a fight is the right option. Chet may also give us some supplies, but he is a bit of a stingy bastard, so that may be difficult. Doc Mitchell may also have some spare medical supplies, so you might want to check him."

He nodded. "Thanks. I'll go talk to Trudy."

Sunny's face was suddenly hesitant. "Listen, about last night..."

"I know. You were just looking for comfort. Don't dwell on it." He smiled, though it was hollow.

Sunny nodded, and 101 continued to the bar. She sighed. For some reason, his words made her feel empty.

* * *

><p>"So, Trudy. The Powder Ganger's will attack soon. Will you fight with us?" 101 said in a serious tone. Her answer would really effect their defense effort.<p>

"I'm not sure." Trudy responded, her facial expression conflicted. "On one hand, they could try to attack the entire town. On the other they could just take Ringo and leave. I'm not proud of it, but if it meant the lives of the people here, I'd do it."

"I understand." 101 said. "But if you don't work with me, Sunny, and Ringo, this town, and everybody in it, will be gone. By sheltering Ringo, you've become a target. They will burn this town and kill its population, down to the last man, woman, and child, just to make an example." She looked shocked at the idea of a group killing children-not that it could happen, but that it could happen in Goodsprings- and 101 gave a harsh laugh.

"Let me make this clear." He barked, is voice harsh as his laugh. "It was pretty common where I'm from, if the memories I have are anything to go by. Most of the bastards there seemed to have been barely human, some of them monsters, and none of them are good men. They wanted nothing more then what others have, because it is easier to take from the people around them than it is to work with the land to live, like many of you."

He shook his head. "These men are little better, not monsters, but spoiled children! The only difference is, children don't have guns and dynamite!"

Trudy stared at them in shock, then one thought crossed her mind. There were threatening _her _Goodsprings

Trudy sighed. "I can get you about 20 bodies, all with moderate shooting skills. You're going to have to equip us, though."

"That won't be a problem. Tell them to bring all their scrape metal,and crates to the main road into town."

He had left before she could ask why.

* * *

><p>101 sat down next to Easy Pete. "Howdy." He said.<p>

"Howdy." Pete responded.

"Powder Gangers are coming. They are going to attack soon. Probably win, too."

"Yeah, maybe."

"Heard you had dynamite. That could help with the defense of the town."

"Can't. You'll blow yourself up."

"I can effectively use much more complex explosives than dynamite. It shouldn't be too hard to make sure others don't blow themselves to hell. I can at least make sure they don't blow their fingers off."

"Fine, you sound like you know what your doing."

101 got up and left.

* * *

><p>He opened the door to the general store, and, to his surprise, saw the girl he'd saved from being gecko food earlier.<p>

"Hey mister! Your the one who saved me from the geckos yesterday! Thank you. You can have a discount here!" She said.

"You sure the owner will be okay with that Miss.?"

She blushed. "Oh, sorry. Maggie. Maggie Candeel-

But 101 wasn't there anymore. He was cradling a small, broken girl in his arms.

* * *

><p><em>He kills the slaver, his sword slicing him from shoulder to hip. Yanking out his sword, he charges at the next one. A spray of bullets impacts his leather armor, but it holds. He decapitates the one holding the SMG. A heavy kick to the chest sends him to the ground. He pulls a pistol from his holster at his side, a hold-out weapon. He pulls the trigger. once, twice, three times.<em>

_Go to hell, you son of a bitch, he thinks coldly. Maggie. He has to find Maggie. He promised Harden and Billy he would bring her back. He stands in front of the shack. It is small, remote. Nobody but him or Gallows would have a chance to track the fuckers down._

_He kicks open the door._

_What he see's next will haunt him for the rest of his life._

_A man with a war hawk is on top of a small frame. Each thrust is accompanied by a punch. He had seen many things that had made him wish for horrible things. When the Enclave killed his father, he had tortured soldiers. He had cut them, burned them, ripped them apart with his bare hands. But he had never harmed a child._

_He thrust his hand forward, into the man's back. His hand clenches around something soft, warm. He pulls, and finds a beating heart. They man doesn't make a sound. He picks him up, and throws him right through the wall._

_He gets a better view of the girl now. She is covered in bruises, cuts. Blood is everywhere. Between her legs, on her arm, behind her head. There is a gunshot wound on her left arm, bandaged with a dirty cloth. On her right arm is a large amount of small holes. Psycho. They drugged her up. The worst part is, her face. He can't pretend it's not Maggie anymore._

_He falls to his knees. Feels her neck for a pulse._

_Nothing._

_How could anyone put a thirteen year old girl through this, he thinks. And for the first time since his father's death, he cries._

* * *

><p>-My dad, Chet, owns the store. That reminds me, dad wanted to meet you. DAD!" She called.<p>

He heard a southern voice shout, "Coming, Mags!" Out of the back of the store came a somewhat short man, Caucasian, with inky black hair.

Many didn't know this about Chet, but he was devoted to his daughter. He had grown up in Nipton, where he had met his childhood sweetheart, Harriet Jackson. He had married her at 19, and lived in Nipton for four more years. Back then, Nipton had been in bandit country. Chet, wanting a better life for his family, picked up and moved. He tried to live in Primm, but the town was old, even 2 decades ago. Chet just couldn't compete with larger, more established stores. Unfortunately, luck was not on Chet's side. On the way further north, they encountered a group of 4 Jackals.

Chet had never been much of a fighter, but when his wife went down, he was worth 10 NCR rangers. He tore through all the Vipers, and, with his 9 month old daughter in hand, tore through a base of Vipers around Jean's Sky Diving, a force of around 20 men, proving grief to be the single scariest damned thing a man could possess in a fight. He then walked into Goodsprings, covered in blood. He walks into the store, drops a bag of equipment, guns, provisions, and caps on the counter. Twenty minutes later, Chet owns the shop, and sets roots in Goodsprings. He raises his daughter, spoils her, and protects her with his life. So it was understandable that he'd want to thank the man that had saved her life.

"Thank you so much for saving my daughter. She is all I have, and I can never repay you. But still, you ever need anything, just ask me." Chet says, all the while shaking his hand.

"No problem." 101 replies, massaging his hand. "But now that you mention it, Goodsprings will soon be attacked by the Powder Gangers, led by Joe Cobb. I already have the town ready to fight, but not equipped to. If you could loan us some supplies, I'd be very grateful."

Chet nodded. "I recently received a weapons shipment. I can outfit the town with leather armor and rifles, along with more ammo than those criminals can possibly have bodies."

101 smiled, and said, "Good. Meet me at the saloon once you have everything together."

He then turned, and walked to the door. He abruptly stopped. Then tossed a large bag over his shoulder. Chet caught it, and found it was full of at least a thousand caps. 101 was gone before he could offer the currency back.

101 spent the walk to Doc Mitchell's house thinking on his newest memory. All of the memories he'd had up until this point were flashes that made him wonder exactly what he'd left behind. He could be married, have a home, children. But this latest memory realize, his life wasn't all sunshine and daisies by wasteland standards. Maybe some things are best forgotten.

"Back already?" Mitchell said, surprise obvious on his face.

"Yeah." 101 responded. "Problem with the Powder Gangers is boiling over. They will be attacking the town soon. If you have any spare medical supplies, they would be greatly appreciated."

The good doctor sighed. "It seems no matter where I go, people still can't keep from killing each other." He went into the backrooms, and returned with a large amount of Stimpaks, Med-X, and a little bit of psycho. "This should be all you need. I'm going to be down there to help fight in a few minutes."

101's brow furrowed in concern. "Doc, you sure your up to it? I've seen you walk. You favor your left leg, and wince every time you use your right, your hand moving slightly to your knee. It's obvious you have some former, debilitating injury."

He grimaced. "Naw, I'm not up to it. But I have to defend my home." 101 nodded in understanding. He then turned, and began to head to the front of the saloon.

* * *

><p>The second 101 walked out of Mitchell's house, he ran into the giant hunk of metal who promptly asked him if he was feeling better.<p>

"That hole in your noggin can't be bothering you too much, or you wouldn't be up and about walkin', would you?" The strange robot said. From the memories he possessed, 101 could tell he had never seen quite the model. It was similar to three blocks stacked in a pyramid and turned upside down, rotating on a single wheel and with clawed, crinkled arms. What wasn't apparent about the robot was the 9mm machine gun, the grenade launcher, and exactly how durable the metal it was made of was, things 101 was perceptive enough to see.

"No, it isn't, aside from some memory loss." 101 said cautiously. "How do you know me?"

"Well, I'm the one who dragged you outta that grave you was in." He said in his hokey-pokey cowboy accent. "Name's Victor, by the way."

101 nodded, sizing up Victor. "Thanks for that, but I have another favor to ask of you."

"And what would that be, partner?" Victor asked.

"The town is about to be under attack, and we could always use a few more guns. You up for it?" 101 asked.

"Of course, partner!" Victor shouted, maybe smiling under that cowboy face.

"Oh, and you wouldn't happen to know anything about how I got put under, do you?" 101 asked.

"Can't say I do." Victor said. 101 nodded, then continued on his way.

* * *

><p><em>Things are looking good. <em>He thought. There was a crowd of about 15 people, not a single one still. Chet and Maggie were handing out rifles, armor, and a lot of ammo. They also had a crate filled with about 250 sticks of dynamite, and were making sure everybody had at least 10 sticks and a lighter. Sunny was with those already outfitted, working on their shooting. Pete was with another smaller group, practicing with the dynamite. In the center of it all was Trudy, in a set of leather armor and with a shotgun across her back, ordering the militia like a general with her troops. Over to the side was all the scrape and crates he could hope for.

101 walked over to Maggie, and gave her the medical supplies, and told her to give all the settlers 2 Stimpaks and a dose of Med-X. He then moved over to Trudy.

"Thanks for keeping things from getting too crazy. As it is, your doing a good job, and things are running pretty smoothly." 101 said. "I've got another project to work on." She nodded distractedly, more focused on reprimanding a settler for throwing dynamite too close to Sunny's group.

Looking to his building materials, he set to work.

* * *

><p>Early morning, 2 days later, he stepped back to admire his work. He'd used the scrape metal to make a large 7 '12 platform, with wheels taken from old motorcycles on the sides, making it portable. He had then filled each crate with rocks, and nailed them onto the platform. He had also used 42 bottles of wonder glue. There was also a break system operated with a lever. Overall, he had basically made moving cover. This wasn't too impressive, but the mounted mini gun with over 5000 rounds was. This made it a fucking tank. If only he could motorize it.<p>

The 'Goodsprings Militia', as it had come to be called, was also much better prepared for an attack. Chet had received another shipment, which included 9mm sidearms, frag mines, and two light machine guns, all of which were bought by 101 and donated to the militia. Any member of the Militia was now at least a decent shot, if not as good as him or Sunny.

He had also divided the militia, which consisted of 20 people exactly, into 3 teams. The first team were the best shots, the Snipers, lead by Sunny Smiles and made of 5 people, were stationed on top of the saloon. They were to lay in wait until the Powder Gangers were right in front of the saloon. The second team, made of 3 people, led by Pete, were the Destroyers. They had most of the dynamite, and were stationed with the Snipers. They were meant to attack before the Snipers, killing those in groups, causing panic. The last team maned his monstrosity. They were the rest, and were wielding the light machine guns. Surprisingly, they were lead by Mitchell. When he had come into the fray, dressed in Combat Armor with a Tri-Beam Laser rifle, 101 thought,_Wow, where did this come from? _Apparently, he had lead a merc troop during his youth. This made him the best choice for captain of the Militia, as he understood tactics and could command Goodsprings's respect almost as well as Trudy. They were what went down first, before the other two. The other teams worked as a mop-up force, or in the unlikely event the tank lost.

Really, he thought, this might be overkill. Those Powder Gangers were fucked.

* * *

><p>When the Powder Gangers came, Goodsprings was a flurry of activity. 101 had counted 22 through his Infiltrator's scope. His fortifications were definitely overkill. Hell, the town was ready to kill a battalion of Great Khans with trained battle Deathclaws. And a Super Mutant Behemoth, like from a vision from yesterday, after daydreaming about what exactly couldn't this tank kill. His mind wandered back to it.<p>

* * *

><p><em>The Talon mercs are dead. The behemoth rounds on him. He deatomizes his Mini-Gun. He lets it loose, and it fills the behemoth with lead. It is only three feet from him when it falls back, dead.<em>

* * *

><p>The town is quiet, the tank up by the gas station. Ringo looked at him. The trader had insisted on manning the Mini-Gun, and while he was barely strong enough to do it, he could. 101 smiled, and nodded, as if to say, <em>Don't worry, we'll be fine. <em>The Powder Gangers, Joey in the front, stopped in front of the saloon, looking confused at the lack of resistance. 101 pushed the tank and jumped on it as it began rolling down the hill. Trudy pulled the brake, and the screeched to a stop in front of the saloon.

Fire was opened, and the Powder Gangers around the saloon were shot down in an instant, the first dozen in the front as least. The second attempted to jump behind cover, mainly the rocks dotting the side of the road. This proved to be rather pointless, as the gunfire of the tank was just turned on the rocks. The sheer intensity of the barrage hitting the rocks was staggering, dust and shards of rock flying in the air.

101 himself was firing from his spot on the tank, his aim true and every burst of three shots hitting a man and killing him. 101 briefly pondered the significant lack of female Powder Gangers, and smirked at a few insinuations he could possibly make during less intense combat.

From behind one of the rocks, an Asian Powder peeked out and began throwing a stick of lit dynamite. 101 saw this, however, and his Infiltrator was switched with his hunting rifle in less than a second. 101 took careful aim at the dynamite, which was in the process of rolling off of the Asian's fingers, and squeezed his trigger. A .308 left the rifle and hit the stick, causing an explosion.

Even 101 was slightly discomforted by the image of the man's hand nothing but a stump with scraps of blackened flesh hanging off, and some of the rookies who saw it- a nineteen-year-old guy and a man who was just plain squeamish- dropped their weapons and threw up over the of the tank. There was a reason that some people left the wasteland and settled towns, and that was because not everyone could handle the fight for survival that was the waste.

Three other men crouching behind the same large rock had been blasted out of their cover by the blast, and they had quickly been killed too. Another three were gunned down by what was left in 101's magazine before the blond man reloaded.

He counted the was left of the opposition and was somewhat happy to see there were only a half dozen Powders left. Pulling out his own stick of dynamite from within his coat, 101 lit it and lobbed it at a cluster of three Powders who were also hiding behind another large rock. He missed getting over the rock, and the dynamite came to a stand still on top of the rock.

It exploded, and quite a few shards of rock launched off the top. Nobody appeared to be even injured, but one stumbled backwards from his cover and was quickly killed. Yet another stick of dynamite came from somewhere near 101, and this one landed near enough the side of the rock to blow them both out.

The last two men jumped out from behind cover in a move that screamed desperation and anger, and were quickly gunned down. 101 had to admire their courage in a grim sort of way, facing their death with a final charge the way they did.

They fell to the ground, and for a second there was silence. Then a resounding cheer rose up throughout the crowd, and what would become known throughout the wasteland as the 'Battle of Goodsprings' was won by the defenders, without a single casualty.

* * *

><p><strong>I know those of you who read the original Remembering were waiting for huge changes, but no. I realized, I just hadn't liked the story after Goodsprings. I think the story took a nosedive because at that point I dropped any idea of pre-planning, eager to update. Now, I have an outlined plot for both this and a sequal. So, it will take a similar plot to the last one, but with longer chapters and more depth. It will start to really differ once I get to the Fort.<strong>

**I thank all of you who read the original Remembering and am looking forward to your opinions on the next chapter**


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Aftermath

* * *

><p>101 turned and jumped off the tank into a sea of pats on the back, exclamations of happiness, hugs, and a few gropes, though those were more than likely unintentional. 101 had already deatomized his rifle, so nobody was hit in the mass of flying body parts. He heard a few shots go off, more than likely into the air. And while he would love to get shitfaced, he knew other things needed to be taken care of. So he immediately shouted, "Hey!"<p>

The crowd went silent, and 101 continued. "Okay, I know that we would all like to do nothing but get completely shitfaced in celebration of our victory." There was a lot of cheering at that. "But first, we have to take care of the dead."

A high voice that still sounded somewhat male shouted, "But we don't got any!"

101 sighed and said, "Maybe, but disease can still spread from the bodies of the Powder Gangers and animals can be attracted by the smell of meat. Look above you!" The blond pointed upwards, and the crowd looked up. They were greeted by the sight of crows circling, which was an obvious sign of death.

"And what else could be attracted?" 101 continued. "Radscorpions? Giant Ants? Geckos?"

There was quiet, and another voice 101 recognized as Sunny's asked, "Where the hell are we going to find a big enough hole to bury them in?"

"We won't." 101 responded. " We burn them. Pile up the bodies about a three hundred feet away from the saloon, so the fire doesn't spread, salvage the useful stuff from the corpses, then burn them to ashes."

There was a wave of muttering at this, and Trudy walked to the front of the crowd to face 101. "That isn't our way." She said. "Every man deserves a proper burial. Even these bastards."

101 shook his head, a little annoyed at the lack of support shown to do what is necessary. "Like Sunny said, where will you find a big enough hole? And even if you do, you'll be sacrificing places your own could be buried in exchange for these scumbags. They'll be dead either way, and I'll do what you want, but just consider what I'm saying!"

There was more milling around, and 101 sighed. Breaking out of the crowd and walking to the corpses of the enemy, he walked to the nearest one. He was a Caucasian with oiled brown hair and a small strip of hair on his chin. He more than likely had at least one person in the world who cared about him, who would miss him. That person might hate the people of Goodsprings for killing him. 101 saw that the hole right above the man's left eye was just the right size for a .308 caliber bullet. As the only one using a gun with that ammo, 101 must have killed him.

But none of this mattered to the man without memories. He rifled through the pockets, pulling out 5.56mm ammo and stacking it up next to him. Realizing this was impractical, 101 stood up, walked over to the saloon, grabbed and five empty crates, walked back, and put the ammo inside one of them. 101 then pulled out a pack of smokes, put it in another box, and a beer, which he put in another box. He then grabbed the nearby varmint rifle and threw it in front of the tank, not having enough room in any of the crates to pile it.

101 then hefted the body and carried it three hundred feet from the saloon, before unceremoniously dropping it on the ground. He then walked back and repeated the process again, and again, and again. By his fifth body, Sunny, Chet, and a man 101 didn't know, came out and helped with the process. Then another large crate was brought over and the guns were tossed in it.

Soon, 101 came across Cobb's body. Digging through the pockets, he found a .357 revolver along with a good amount of ammo. These were not of much interest, though, not when compared to the detailed map of the area. The map was an old one, pre-war, detailing the entire Mojave. There were places of it such as Nellis Air Base to the far North, Primm to the south, and of course Vegas itself, right in the middle of the north-east quadrant.

There were also many other marks on it, hand drawn by chicken scratch. 101 looked at his pip-boy, aware there was a map on it but having not checked it since his awakening. Scrolling to the map, he saw there were many locations missing from his own map that Cobb had added. Places like Goodsprings, a place to the South called the Mojave Outpost, and somewhere to the South known as Primm, all of which 101 added in. There were also two other places, the NCRCF to the South and Vault 19 to the North.

It was reasonable to assume they were Powder Ganger bases, as they both had the word "Base" next to them. There was also four different little camps around the NCRCF, but they were of no consequence, saying things like "Camp East" and "Camp West". Simple little things with maybe one or two men manning them.

It was a wonder Cobb had the map, seeing as he more than likely wasn't that high up on the food chain, but 101 supposed that the useful tool may have not been known to others. 101 tucked it in his coat pocket and continued his grim task.

Once they had all the bodies in a pile the designated distance from the town, there was a lot of milling around. Nobody was sure what to do. Then 101 shouted, "Now we need to dig a hole."

There were murmurs throughout the crowd at this. "Why do we need to do that?" A settler asked from near 101.

101 rolled his eyes. He didn't know where he was from, but if this kind of innocence was common in the the Mojave, then his knowledge pointed to him not being from here. "We need to dig a deep hole and toss the bodies in there to burn. Just an extra precaution to stop the fire from spreading to the town. Anyone got the right amount of shovels?"

Some settlers broke from the crowd and went back into town. Fifteen minutes later, they came back with about twenty shovels. There were around thirty-five people, so some ended up going to try and find some extra flammable materials to help the fire burn while the rest dug.

101 enjoyed the labor. It was good for clearing the mind. One was able to ignore all else and give themselves entirely to the task at hand, especially if it was particularly difficult. It was a strange sort of pleasure, but it was enjoyable none the less.

Fortunately, years of making a living off their land and their bighorners had left the settlers with strong arms and backs, making the digging of the hole go quick. By the time the others came back with some spare trash and dry wood, the whole was around seven feet deep and three feet wide. The next task was to throw the bodies in the hole, which the settlers did without any prompting from 101.

Soon it was done, and all that was left was to burn the bodies and figure out what to do with the loot. But the bodies came first.

101 walked over to the pile within the hole, along with the other residents of Goodsprings plus Ringo, and stood in front of it. He reached into one of the many pockets in his coat and pulled out a box of matches, not knowing where he got them but knowing they would do the job he needed to get done.

Striking it against the box, a small fire was lit. 101 set it against a small bit of old paper from a ruined, illegible book tossed it in. It landed against a small pile of old books, which quickly caught on fire. The fire slowly spread to the bodies, and soon the smell of burning flesh filled the air.

101 didn't quite understand why, but the smell made him hungry. That disturbed him greatly, but he ignored it, putting it on the smell being close enough to brahmin steak to incite his appetite. Still... It made him remember...

* * *

><p><em>He's pinned down. There are raiders circling his location, but he knows they won't attack. Not yet. No, they are far to wary of his reputation. He is the Lone Wanderer, after all. He still has enough ammo to deal with them all, but he is too weak. It's been a week since he'd last eaten.<em>

_He looks at the body of the raider nearby, and shakes in revulsion when he involuntarily licks his lips. He can't do it, he can't. It is just wrong, just wrong._

_He thinks of the Vampires from Meresti Trainyard. They do it, yet they were good people. Hell, he'd even slept with Brianna. And they had all eaten a person once or twice in their lifetimes, probably more than that. And the raider was already dead, anyway. He wouldn't get a burial. Nobody would even mourn him, more than likely. But people all over the wasteland would mourn me if I die, he realizes._

_He scoots towards the body and is disgusted by the stench of death, sex, blood, and stale beer. God, this had to be the nastiest thing he would ever do. He grabs the arm and slowly lifts it to his mouth before biting down._

* * *

><p>101 shuttered in disgust at the memory, his imagination going wild. How the hell did he know <em>vampires<em>? And he had slept with one? He had eaten people?

What kind of person had he been before he lost his memory? He had obviously been experienced, if his abilities in combat and knowledge of survival and battle were anything to go by. But what had been his morals? How could he have any if he ate people?

"Hey, the fire's burned out." Sunny's voice came from next to him, along with a gentle shake of his arm. 101 looked up and saw that the embers of burned out corpses were the only thing left in the pit he had helped dig. 101 sighed and turned to the crowd, then shouted, "Okay, we have about three hours of daylight left. Let's all celebrate in our own ways, then tomorrow we can deal with the loot."

There were loud cheers at that, along with more than a few hats tossed in the air, and the entire crowd turned as one mass and began moving back to the saloon, some walking, so running, and one or two folks at the back sprinting to catch up with those running.

101, who was now at the back of the crowd, was content with walking back to the saloon. Sunny was walking next to him, and after a few steps, he felt a small pressure on his hand. Looking down, he saw that pressure was Sunny's own hand.

He looked forward once more, thinking of what he would drink. But he made no motion to pull his hand away.

* * *

><p>101 couldn't have been two minutes behind those who had run to the saloon, but by that time, the saloon was in a state of total pandemonium. There were bottles everywhere, liquor was flowing freely, and there was little doubt that there would be anywhere clean by tomorrow in the bar.<p>

101 began pushing through the crowd to the bar, losing Sunny somewhere along the way, and surprised to see Trudy absent from the bar. Instead, there was a different man serving drinks at a break-neck pace.

The first thing 101 noticed about the man was his sheer mass. He was standing at about six and a half feet, with broad shoulders and a heavily muscled body. His hair was a dark red color, and his skin was as pale as you would expect from a redhead. He wore his red hair clean-cut, along shaggy mutton chops upon a Celtic face. He wore what appeared to be a modified mercenary outfit, an open sleeveless leather vest over a white tank top, along with a pair of salvaged pre-war jeans and some black boots. Across his back was a riot shotgun, and upon a belt strapped on his waist were around ten frag grenades and a few rounds of ammunition.

Upon reaching the bar, 101 shouted, "Where's Trudy?"

In an accented voice that made his obvious Celtic descent more obvious, the large man shouted back, "Getting some more liquor from the back!"

101 nodded then shouted, "And why are you manning the bar?"

"Because I'm available and not too interested in getting drunk at the moment!" The man shouted back. "Name's Irish, by the way! Have a drink on me!" He then grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the shelf nearby and handed it to 101, who uncorked it and took a swig. After all, why say no to a free drink?

Turning back through the crowd, 101 fought his way to the back entrance and left the back, somehow not spilling a single drop of liquor. When he left, he saw Trudy and another man he identified as Micheal lifting crates of what had to be booze. Downing his last half-bottle of whiskey, he walked over to them.

"Need some help?" He asked, not too keen on throwing away a few hundred caps to overcome his seemingly endless endurance and get drunk.

"Yeah." Trudy grunted as she picked up a case of liquor.

101 reached over and picked up two cases of what smelled like whiskey without some much as a grunt, and asked, "So, mind telling me about that Irish manning the bar?"

"He's just this mercenary who'll pass through every once in awhile. He really helped us out about a year ago when the watering pump broke and we contracted him to fix it for a very reasonable price." Trudy responded, pushing open the door and entering. 101 followed, Micheal close behind with a case of sarsaparilla and gin, which was used to make an unusual but excellent beverage.

"And just because of that your willing to let him run your bar?" The blonde questioned with a raised eyebrow.

"Naw." She said. "That wouldn't be enough. He's also just has a trustworthy feel about him. Funny as hell, too, and especially good at holding his booze."

"That's odd." 101 said. "He said you left him in charge because he wasn't interested in drinking right now."

Trudy chuckled at this as they pushed through the crowd. "That's because he waits until everyone else is half-drunk, challenges them to a drinking contest, then inevitably wins their caps. Crafty bastard he is, when it comes to making caps."

101 chuckled as well. "Sounds like the kind of guy I'd like to drink with." They then continued on, the blond town hero getting many slaps on the back and thanks on the way for his help in defending the small post-apocalypse town.

When they reached the bar, they found the rather amusing sight of Irish flirting with Chet's daughter, serving drinks, and holding some complicated-looking game with Ringo all at once, somehow making it look easy. "Hello there!" He called to them. "Oh good, more booze!" To the room as a whole he called out, "Hey, come get drunk! We got enough booze to knock three bighorners and a deathclaw on their asses!"

There was a massive round of applause at this announcement, and more than a few celebratory kisses front the ladies and the gents to whatever was next to them, sometimes other ladies and gents, sometimes their drinks, and sometimes a wall. 'Ah, the sign of proper intoxication!' 101 thought happily.

Trudy and Micheal took over at the bar, allowing Irish to focus completely on bedding Maggie, which 101 had the strangest feeling wouldn't happen, and the card game, which he appeared to be winning. He then played an eight, landing him on twenty-six perfectly. Judging by the sour look on Ringo's face, this won the game for the giant of a man, and he took about twenty caps off of the table.

Ringo stood up as Irish seemed to attempt to use his win to woo Maggie. 101 took an abandoned beer from the bar and sipped at it. The caraveener came and sat next to 101 at an empty bar stool, asking for a bottle of sarsaparilla from Trudy.

"What game was that?" 101 asked Ringo curiously.

"Caravan." Ringo responded. "The only game in the Mojave that isn't played in casinos, because there's no house edge. Pretty simple, once you get the hang of it. Good for passing time."

"And what are the rules?" 101 asked as Irish started another game with a settler 101 didn't recognize.

"Well, each player has three caravans." Ringo said, pointing as Irish placed down a six of clubs, and the settler countered with his own card, a seven of hearts. "The goal is to get your caravan in between twenty and twenty-six without busting."

"Like blackjack?" 101 asked.

Ringo nodded. "Yeah, pretty much, except the ace is only a one and the face cards do different things. You see, the king there," he gestured as Irish put the king of diamonds on one of his caravans, "doubles the value of the card you put it on. He just got that caravan to twenty-two, which isn't bad, but isn't particularly good."

"So even when you reach the right range, you can still lose that caravan?" The blond badass questioned.

"Yeah. Now, the queen changes the suit of whatever card you put it on. If you play it on the lead card, the caravan changes direction." Ringo said as Irish placed a queen of diamonds on his lead three of hearts, allowing him to play a two of diamonds to bring his total to twenty-six.

"Can you play more than one on the same card?" 101 asked.

"Yeah, though that is kinda pointless outside of really long-term strategies. Anyway, the joker is a double-edged sword. If you play it on an ace, it removes all other cards of that suit from the table. A number card, all other cards of that value leave." Irish's opponent placed a joker on his two, turning Irish's caravan back to twenty-four.

"And that jack?" 101 asked the trader.

"Just gets rid of that card and the face cards attached to it." Ringo replied with a shrug.

101 nodded as Irish won his second game. "Hey, mind if I borrow your deck?"

"Sure. Hell, just keep my spare deck." Ringo said, pulling out a set of tops cards. As 101 saw the cards, he went to a different place.

* * *

><p><em>"Twenty-one!" The dealer shouted as he hit another blackjack. This brought his earned caps up to eight-thousand. Hew felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around to see one of the chairmen looking at him.<em>

_"Hey, buddy!" He said. "On behalf of the Tops Casino, I'd like to give you this key to our High Roller Suit! Just don't win too much!" 101 saw the thinly-veiled warning and took the key before standing up. They had said the same thing at Gomorrah, and the Atomic Wrangler. _

_He went over his progress, or lack of therefore, to gain support from the denizens of the Mojave. The NCR was too busy with their own war to help the Capitol fight theirs, so he was out of luck in that department. He would see his home burn and his children dead before he tried to gain help from the Legion, who he had already made an enemy of. He would look around a bit more, but it seemed he was done and the reinforcements he had already sent would have to do._

_Now, he was just resupplying through cleaning out the casinos. He ignored the groans of disappointment as he left the table from his growing fanclub, intent on cashing out before cleaning out the Ultra-Luxe-_

* * *

><p>101 shook his head and took the deck before stepping up to Irish, who was taunting the crowd in an attempt to get another opponent.<p>

"What, all of you too afraid to lose?" He taunted.

"Nope." 101 replied, sliding into the seat opposite Irish. "No, I'm not. Fifty caps and your drinking bill I'll win."

Irish blinked in surprise, then smiled like the cat that ate the canary. "Ah, a challenger! And if I'm correct, you're the new town hero!"

Said hero nodded. "Yeah, I suppose you could say that."

The redhead's smile grew. "Then in that case, let's make this a little more interesting."

"What did you have in mind?" The blond asked with a raised eyebrow.

"If the lovely Maggie agrees," Irish said, "the winner gets a kiss from the beauty!"

Maggie seemed totally dumbstruck, and 101 was a little surprised as well. Still, it was a smart enough strategy if flirting with her wasn't working. 101 shrugged. "If she doesn't mind, I have no problem with it."

Maggie blinked, and then stuttered out, "I-I see no problem with it." She said, though it was pretty obvious she hadn't gotten past kissing with men, if even that, despite her being in at least her early twenties. Chet seemed like the overprotective type, so this didn't come as much of a shock to the blond.

There were cheers from the crowd at the stakes being raised to this level. 101 had a strange feeling that wherever Chet was, he would be killing whoever won this little match tomorrow.

"Well, let's get started." 101 said, drawing his cards. He placed a three, a ten, and a six on each of his caravans, all of hearts. "Any stories to share?"

Irish played his own cards, a three of clubs and a two and six of diamonds. "Not really. My jobs lately have been limited to eliminating gangs for townies and the NCR all over the Mojave, along with a few target jobs for the Omertas. Only interesting news is the capture of Nelson."

101 played a king of spades on his ten. "Tell me that then."

Irish responded to 101's play by putting an eight of clubs on his six. "The NCR's town, Nelson, got taken by the Legion. They're just holden' it and letting the NCR kill themselves trying to get it back."

101 nodded, placing a six on his twenty, setting him for the win in that particular aspect. Irish made a noise of disgust before playing a ten on his eight, which left him at a strong twenty-four. "Lucky bastard, ain't ya?"

He played a two on his six to make eight. "I did get a ten in luck using a vito-matic vigor tester."

Irish blinked in surprised, then laughed and cursed at the same time. "Didn't mention that before starting this game, did you?"

101 flashed a crooked smile in return. He noted that Irish got a little paler when he smiled like that, but he kept up his manner, playing a two on his twenty-four, winning him that caravan and leaving the last one to determine the winner.

"So, any stories yourself?" Irish asked 101 in a little more cautious a tone.

101 played a nine on his three. "Well, I got shot in the head and now have no recollection of my past. Then I killed some guys and became town hero, apparently."

Irish responded by placing a ten on his own three. "Apparently?" He asked.

101 played another three on his nine. "Wasn't really aware that I had earned such a prestigious place in the town hierarchy." There were a few chuckles at that.

Irish nodded in response as well before smiling and placing down a ten, bringing him twenty-four.

The crowd, which had been filled with murmurs, was silent now in anticipation of 101's response. He placed down a ten, tying them up.

Irish smiled brighter, then placed an ace, leaving him at twenty-five.

You could have heard a pen drop as 101 scowled at his cards. Most thought he was done for. But then he smiled his crooked smile, placed down a two, and won the game. 101 then swept the caps off of the table, kissed Maggie on the hand in a very gentlemanly showing, getting wolf whistles from the crowd and turning the girl bright scarlet, and left the room.

He found Sunny in the next room, shooting pool and obviously intoxicated slightly.

"How are you doing, Miss Smiles?" He asked, his crooked smile still on his face.

"Imma good." She slurred, shooting the eight ball into the corner pocket and winning the game against Easy Pete.

101 chuckled. "And exactly how much have you had to drink tonight?" He asked.

She blinked and scrunched up her face in a rather cute way, as if she was trying to solve a very difficult math problem. "A few." She finally said, handing her pool stick to Ringo, who was setting up a game of nine-ball.

"And does a few break into the double digits?" 101 asked with the same mirth in his voice.

"All you nee' ta know," She managed to get out, "is a few is enoug' to make you look pretty damn attra, attrar, atrra-"

"Attractive?" He asked, moving a little closer to her.

"Yeah." She responded, pinning him against a nearby wall and kissing his neck. She tried to take off his coat, but they were already getting a few looks. So he stopped her from stripping either of them and began leading her back to her house, as she wasn't in quite the right state to do it herself.

Once they got there, she started removing her leather armor, and managed to get all the way down to her underwear before she passed out on her bed. He chuckled at her antics, deciding she was definitely the type of drinker who just wouldn't accept that her small body size would not allow her to drink like she wanted to.

He pulled off his boots and his coat before laying down next to her on the bed. She snuggled up next to him in her sleep, and he wrapped one arm around her while putting the other behind his head. But he found that despite the comfort of the situation, he could not sleep.

He kept on thinking about the kind of roots he seemed to be putting down in this town. He was obviously regarded with high esteem in the town, and he was beginning to develop feelings for Sunny. He also couldn't deny that he enjoyed the charms of the small town and the simplicity of it all.

Yet despite this, he couldn't help but think of Amata, and these memories that could only point to some grand life. What did Amata mean to him? Were they married, as he had promised in his memories? What if they had children, were taking care of other family? What if him not being there had already killed them?

But was that really his problem? He had no memory of them, no real responsibility. Could he be held accountable for them when he didn't even know much more than her name?

Then there was this sort of feeling he had. The kind you had deep down in your bones, deep down in your heart. And his feeling told him that he couldn't stay, that far, far more than Amata or any family of his was at stake. He felt that if he stayed in Goodsprings and left whatever old life he had had goodbye, then more than any conscience could handle would be lost, and it would be on his head.

This kind of thinking wasn't helping him, he decided. If he ended up staying in Goodsprings, with Sunny, and Trudy, and Chet and Maggie and Pete, then he would. If he ended up leaving, then he would, and he would do his damnedest to remember his life. He decided that he could figure this out in the morning, though. Right now, he needed to rest from a long day.

* * *

><p>He woke up at what couldn't have been more than an hour later with a pressure in his bladder that told him he need to take a piss. Sunny's house didn't exactly have indoor plumbing, so he would have to go outside to take care of his human needs.<p>

He went to the side of the house and did his business. He noticed that the party at the saloon was still going strong, and the sounds of violence could be heard.

_'I may have to go break up some fights.' _The blond thought with a sigh. That, and a good fight was always fun. Turning around to go and retrieve his boots, he began walking. As he turned the corner to the door of the building Sunny and sometimes Trudy slept in, he found himself with the barrel of a shotgun pointing in between his eyes.

"You owe me some answers, Wanderer!" A familiar, accented voice snarled.

"What the hell, Irish?"


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Questions

* * *

><p>101 stared at the giant man known as Irish, his eye crossing slightly as he looked at the barrel of the riot shotgun pointed at him.<p>

"What the hell? What the hell?" Irish snarled in a whisper, more than likely trying not to attract attention. That would mean to most the cue to start shouting for help, but 101 realized he would be shot before help arrived. He may have survived a 9mm to the head, but a shotgun blast was a different story altogether, especially without the sun to heal him. "That's my line." Irish continued.

"I think I'm the one on the wrong end of a shotgun with no idea why!" 101 snarled back angrily.

"Wanderer!" Irish whispered, "if you think for one second I'm going to buy that anyone could hit you with enough bullets to do damage, then you're not as smart a bastard as I gave you credit for!"

"I am not lying!" 101 said with fury. Nobody liked being called a liar, after all.

Irish shoved the shotgun forward a bit more, to where it was actually touching the bridge of the blond man's nose. "Bullshit!" He shot back. "You could take Hoover Dam by yourself, you expect me to believe one bullet to the skull could wipe your memory! Unless you were hit by a mini-nuke, you must be lying!"

Then 101 left Goodsprings for a second.

* * *

><p><em>He heard the thumping before Lyons Pride did. It was like big rocks smashing together, and it could only mean something big was coming for them.<em>

_He pulled his hunting rifle off of his back, aiming it at the pile of cars Reddin was standing by. He saw from the corner of his eye that Sarah was turning her laser rifle on him, more than likely to figure out what he was doing point a gun in Redding's general area. Or shoot. Hopefully it would be the former._

_The things went to hell._

_The explosion threw Reddin backwards a few feet, along with cars and other debris. She tried to stand up, but the massive green monster took a few steps forward and flattened the initiate under its foot. The sickening sounds of bones and meat smashing together into paste made bile rise up in his throat. He squeeze the trigger three times, as he had quickly learned that jerking it was inaccurate as hell, not that it would matter with a target that big._

_The .32s had no effect on the monster, and he cursed, dropping the gun. He looked around the courtyard for a weapon that would do some damage. The creature was being deterred from moving forward by a salvo of laser fire, so he had a second to think._

_He saw a dead paladin by the remains of a pre-war fountain, and the Brotherhood member was holding a large, dangerous looking weapon. On the fountain were four metal canisters that looked like the nuke he had disarmed in Megaton, only smaller._

_He ran towards the weapon and picked it up, shoving a canister along the ramp the gun possessed. He leveled it in the general direction of the giant super mutant, ignoring the screams as it hit an unnamed knight with the massive stick of metal it was holding, launching the poor bastard into a pillar. He wasn't sure if the Brotherhood member's armor had saved him._

_His muscles screaming in protest from the contraptions weight, he pulled the trigger. The kick-back nearly caused him to fall on his backside, and he stumbled a bit as it was. The canister hit the beast in the shoulder, and the effects were immediate. It disintegrated the larger portion of its shoulder in nuclear fire, and its arm fell to the ground with a large thud._

_He was already loading up another one as the thing fell to one knee. He felt all eyes, including those of the creature's, on him in shock. He pulled the trigger again, and it hit the thing right in its green neck. It did to its head what it did to its shoulder, disintegrating it into nothing but dust._

_He dropped the weapon and fell as the beast did, landing on his back with a thud covered by the sound of the monster hitting the ground. He felt a hit that would definitely leave a bruise on his shoulder, his armor from the vault suit given to him by Moira colliding with the stone and acting similar to a rock. A double-edged sword._

_The strain of the past few days caught up with him, but he didn't pass out. He just laid there with his eyes closed. _

_"Get up." He heard Sarah say. He opened his eyes and saw her over him, holding out a hand. "Up, I said." He reached out and grasped her forearm, his shoulder throbbing in protest. It throbbed more as she pulled up, and he grunted as he stood on his own feet, rubbing the smarting body part._

_"That was impressive." Sarah said, the smallest smile on her face and the tiniest glimmer of respect in her eyes. Then both were gone before he could react to them. "But don't start thinking you are anything more than some inexperienced wastelander."_

_He rolled his eyes. "Whatever you think of me doesn't matter." He said. "Just make sure I get in there to see Three Dog." In a smaller, more subdued voice, he said, "And, well..." He gestured to the smear that was Redding. _

_Sarah, too, took on a mood of sadness. "Yeah... Redding may have been a little too wild, but she was a good soldier." The blond woman said. She walked over to her men. The one who had been hit with the metal stick was rising, though he had a notable limp as he moved to Redding as well. _

_When he saw the other Brotherhood members moving towards the only casualty, he did too. Sarah started to speak. "Today," She said, "Initiate Redding earned her position on this squad. From this day forward, she will be known as Paladin Redding." She said some more, but he tuned her out. He understood the gist of this speech, and the amount of sentimentality that could have made him listen to the rest had been stomped out when he saw his first mutilated corpse hanging from a meat hook. The one strapped to the mattress had lost him his lunch._

_He made to the building, where he knew Three Dog had to be. Time to kick his father's ass-_

* * *

><p><em>"<em>And I doubt even you could survive that!" Irish continued.

_'What the hell is wrong with my past?' _101 thought to himself. He remembered Amata, and the obvious love he had felt for both her in his father. He had an odd feeling that the two memories were not too far apart in his lifetime, so he was curious as to what events could allow him to go from that love to, well, kicking ass. Not only that, but that memory was so clear and lucid at the end! Whereas before everything had been a rush, this time he had seen the people and lived the events like they really were his own, walking through them and noticing details.

And as he had seen the wisp of this Sarah, he had felt drawn to her. Now that he had seen her, he felt a pang in his heart he could not explain, like she was a missing limb or long-dead comrade. Or maybe more. But what about Amata?

"Cat got your tongue, asshole?" Irish snarled. He pushed the gun forward a bit, and 101 backed up into the dirty wall of the pre-war house. The house may have once been white, but years of dust storms- and the initial explosion- had left it brown and filthy. Now it rubbed against his white shirt, turning the back slightly brown.

"Why, yes, actually." 101 answered in as matter-of-fact tone as he could muster. "Can't you see Fluffy?"

Irish cocked an eyebrow and jerked his head back in surprise. This gave 101 all the opening to knock the gun aside with the back of his hand. It went off and the shell went into the wall, sending plaster all over the ground. 101 attempted to kick Irish in the Irish Potatoes, but missed when the man jumped back. 101 lowered his leg before the red-head could take advantage of the odd position, and put up his fist in a guard.

Irish took up his own arms and threw the first punch, which 101 ducked under. The massive hand hit the wall with a thud, and 101 threw his own shot to Irish's kidney. The pain of both blows caused the giant man to grunt in pain, and the smaller blond once again took advantage by ducking around Irish. He then jumped on his opponent's back, wrapping his arms around the neck of his enemy.

He squeezed with enough pressure to cut off the air reaching Irish's tongue, but that wasn't enough to stop the man. He turned and slammed 101 hard against the wall, and there was a small crack as 101's right shoulder blade broke. He held on through the pain, though, and while Irish's powerful body continued to crush him and his fist hit him like rocks from a sling as he reached around and over, the smaller man held on tight. 101 soon felt relief as Irish's punches lost their strength, and the man collapsed into a heap, the amnesia victim still on his back.

Yet despite winning the battle, 101 felt himself falling into blackness. Spots danced before his eyes as the pain caught up to him. The fact that he had sustained a minor concussion when his head had been slammed against the wall didn't help things. He stood, his shoulder aching in protest at movement, reminiscent of his memory, only a thousand times worse. He gradually stumbled and fell on the ground face first. It wasn't long before sleep claimed him.

* * *

><p><em>There was little chance of victory, he knew. His only option was to fight hand-to-hand with the super mutant, and that was pure insanity, even for someone of his prodigal skills. Yet he was weaponless, and the it was better to fight the green monster in front of him and claim the beast's weapon than it was to crawl back to his nearest supply point with zero protection. Besides, he had the element of surprise. <em>

_He was atop the fallen telephone tower that served as the bridge between the hotel and hospital he had saved Reily's Rangers from over a year prior. Below him was a single super mutant, armed with a hunting rifle and grenade. He could survive the fall if he hit the mutant, but there was no chance that would give him victory. Still, he didn't have much of a choice. Saying a quick prayer to whatever god was listening, he jumped._

_His aim was true, and he landed on the surprised monster's back. The enemy crashed to the floor, and while he felt a rib or two crack as he hit the muscle bound frame and his momentum bounced him three feet into the air, he was still alive, and his higher radiation level was already healing him, it being night and the sun not being here to help as well._

_Yet it was not to be victory. The beast reared up, and threw him back a few feet. Before he left the creature, though, he scrabbled for a handhold, a weapon, something to keep him attached to his target and in a position to pummel. Pure dumb luck won the day when he grabbed the pin to the grenade on the belt._

_It came loose with the small sound of metal sliding against metal, and while he was away safely, the creature had only three seconds to live after tossing that grenade, all of which he spent roaring a battle cry._

_Boom._

_It flew apart in a cascade of green flesh. The larger portion of its torso was blown to scraps and chunks, and the shoulders and head fell next to the legs, a thin bit of skin connecting the two body parts._

_Even he, with all his experience in killing, was a bit disgusted. Still, he got up, dusted his combat armor off, and salvaged the hunting rifle and ammo from the corpse. Parts of the hunting rifle were destroyed beyond all recognition, but there was enough working to repair his own. He grabbed a few key parts, pretty much an entirely new firing mechanism. He then deatomized his own rifle, a gun with the words 'Ol' Painless' on it, written on a golden plaque on the stock._

_After making the repairs, he turned to set off, only to see three men in black armor approaching. 'Hell', he thought. They would more than likely have a bounty on him for twenty thousand caps, or more. He was just going by the latest figure he had salvaged from some Talon Merc corpses a few days ago. _

_He pointed his rifle up, not even bothering with the macho stand-off that usually came first, and shot one right the head. The merc's cranium exploded in a mess of gore, surprising his comrades, one of whom was dead within a moment, and in a similar manner. The last was killed by his own foolishness. He attempted to throw a grenade, but the second the pin was pulled, it was shot. The explosion that followed killed him instantly._

* * *

><p>"101!" He heard a voice say, and he felt a few light slaps on his face. He shook his head and groaned in response, pulling himself from his place on the ground. Or, at least, he remembered being on the ground...<p>

He looked around and saw he was sitting in a bed, Sunny's bed, to be more exact. She was in a chair next to him, a look of worry on her face, and Doc Mitchell was on the other side of the bed, looking him over with a doctor's trained eye.

"What hit me?" He asked, shaking his head. He was still wearing his pants, but his shirt was gone, and his torso was wrapped in bandages.

Sunny smiled gently. "A two-hundred pound Irish." She then frowned, furrowed her brow, and smacked him hard across the head. "What the hell happened? You could have been killed!"

"Yeah." 101 agreed, rubbing the back of his head. "I could have." He then moved his hand to his chest, and realized he still had broken ribs to deal with. "Hey, what time is it?" He asked.

"Noon." Mitchell said. "And don't even think of moving, not with those ribs. You have two of them broken and one cracked."

Despite the good doctor's warnings, the blond man clambered to his feet and started walking to the door, his immense pain threshold allowing him to ignore the stabs of fire in his chest and stomach. "Just get me out in the sun." He grunted.

Sunny and Mitchell both tried to push him back down in the bed, but he simply pushed them out of the way and continued moving towards the door. He got to the door quickly, and opening it, he bathed in the sunlight of the waste. He walked out the door, and putting his hand over his ribs, he felt them heal and move slightly to set perfectly. Not to knock Mitchell's work, but it was likely that he had set one or two wrong.

The blond man turned and stretched, looking at the stunned Sunny and Mitchell. "Did I mention the sun heals me?" He asked, smiling crookedly. "Because it does."

Mitchell was the first to recover, blinking and shaking his head. "S'plains a lot." The old man sighed. At this point, any reasonable person would just accept it and keep on moving past.

"I suppose it does." Sunny agreed, adopting Mitchell's policy of 'Go with it'. "A crazy idiot like him needs something like that to get passed twenty."

101 chuckled at them, and then his face turned serious. "Did you get Irish?"

Mitchell responded. "Yeah," he said,"we did. We got him locked up and under guard, and he keeps requesting you."

101 nodded. "Alright then. Take me to him."

* * *

><p>Luckily, the two didn't protest, and the blond man was sitting in front of the ginger giant within a few mintues, in the remains of anold schoolhouse. Sunny and a man named Greg were standing behind 101, both armed with varmint rifle. 101 had a butterfly knife in his pocket, and another up his sleeve, along with a much more intimadating trench knife on his belt. The two men were sitting on crates, at a table that had been hastily constructed from an old filing cabinet.<p>

Both were drinking sasparilla, and 101 was eating a gecko steak, having not eaten at all that day despite it being almost two in the afternoon. He cut a piece with a knife and fork Trudy had provided and put it in his mouth, chewing slowly. "I'm sorry." He said after swallowing, looking at Irish. "I'm being rude. Have you been fed?"

Irish nodded, seeing through the blond's half-hearted attempts at intimadation. "Yes, and stop trying textbook attempts at making me spill whatever you're after on me."

101 smiled ruefully. "I didn't expect that would work." He pushed aside his plate and grabbed his soda. "But I do want to know why you attacked me."

The redhead stared at the other man fort a minute before saying, "You really don't remember a thing, do you?"

101 sighed. "No." He responded. "I only draw up a blank."

Irish stared some more before finally laughing a very frustrated laugh. "Of course." He said. "Of fucking course. I wander the Mojave looking for answers, and when I seem to find them, they ain't there." He leaned back, much more at-ease, and said, "I suppose you'll want to know how we know each other."

The blond man nodded eagerly, for if there was one person trying to kill him due to something from his past, then there might be more. If he wanted to settle in Goodsprings, then he would need to know as much as possible.

"Alright." The redhead said. "It was a few months, maybe a year ago."

* * *

><p>He looked out over the town. Goodsprings, it was called. He had tracked the Wanderer here, and here the man would die. And the last hope for the Capital would fall.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>I'm back, and about ten chapters ahead. I know I said this would be a double update, but looking over the next chapter I'm not entirely satisfied, so you'll get it this Sunday, maybe sooner. That'll be when I start updating, along with Wensday. You'll learn more about Irish next chapter, and the plot will move on past Goodsprings. <strong>


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Irish

* * *

><p>"It started in my hometown, about half a year ago." Irish began. "A place west of here, called Fraiser. I had been out to hunt some of the local wildlife, and you came down the street. You looked like hell, let me tell you." He smiled bitterly, as if the obviously humorous image had left a bitter taste in his mouth. "In fact, you looked like you had just escaped a battle with twenty fire-spitting geckos."<p>

"Why was that?" 101 asked curiously. Irish quirked an eyebrow.

"Don't know." He responded. "Didn't ask. Now don't interrupt; it's rude." The blond man had the decency to look a little sheepish as Irish continued. "Now, I had just nailed a fully grown ram with my hunting shotgun and had been skinning it when you came along.

* * *

><p><em>Irish looked up from the bighorner he was skinning when he heard a masculine voice shout, "Hey!" He saw that the man who had shouted it was nearly as tall as the redhead, blond, and wearing a beat-up old trench coat. He didn't seem to be armed, though Irish supposed that there could be any manner of small firearms hidden by the coat. The strange thing about him was some metal contraption he had on his arm, though the bigger man decided he'd ignore that for the moment and hope it wasn't a weapon meant for braining.<em>

_"Hello!" Irish responded. "How are you doing, stranger?"_

_"Well enough, considering I haven't slept in a real bed for the past two weeks." The blond replied. He was closer now, and Irish realized how haggard the man looked, how dirty his face and hair was, and how the beard on his face was far too patchy to have been grown intentionally. In fact, the erractic way it was sculpted on his face gave it the appearence of having been groomed with a flamer._

_"That right stinks, don't it?" The giant of a man responded. "If you want a bed, though, you can come back and meet the rest of the clan."_

_He smiled slightly and nodded. "I'd like that." He said happily. "How big is this clan of yours?"_

_Irish thought for a moment, then said, "Not sure, about three or four thousand people." _

_This seemed to pique the man's interest. "Is that so? What kind of fighters are they?"_

_Irish puffed out his chest in pride. "The very best!" He responded proudly. "You should see us preform the Highland Charge! Sends fully armed, fully grown men running and in need of a new pair of pants!"_

_The redhead could have sworn that, in response to his declaration of his clan's strength, the man had just developed a woody and saw thirty beautiful women around him, ready to fix that little issue. As crude as the simile was, it was fairly accurate. "Do you think you could take me back to your leader?" The blond asked._

_"Sure." Irish said, smiling. "He's my Da, so I should be able to get him to give you a meeting. Can I ask why, though?"_

_The haggard man frowned. "My home is... In a less than optimal state. We could use the aid of strong warriors, and while your clan won't be enough to turn the tide of the war, if they're as fearsome as you say, we should have a exponetially easier time of it."_

_Irish nodded, a little surprised by the answer. "Well then, where are you from, Wanderer?"_

_The blond looked at the giant man queerly for a moment, before he smiled crookedly, a glint in his eye. "You have no idea how ironic it is that you would call me that... At home, I was given the nickname Lone Wanderer by the closest thing we have to a celebrity. Speaking of names, what's yours?"_

_Irish smiled. "My name is Conlan, though most call me Irish on account of me being most like my ancestors."_

_But in response to that question... Let's see how the chat with your father goes before you get a real answer, eh?"_

_The big man nodded, his curiousity raging, and the two began heading back to his home._

* * *

><p>Irish chuckled. "In hindsight, I probably shouldn't have been so kind to you. A lot of bullshit could have been avoided had I just sent you to get supplies at the nearest checkpoint."<p>

101 frowned. "It seems as if we got along well enough. What did I do? Lead your clan into death in battle?" At this point, the blond man was wondering if he might be able to get some answers about his past from the other man. If he could know if he had obligations to fufill or not, it could either put his conscience to rest or send him home.

The redhead scowled in return. "No, though with what actually happened I wish you had. Then those that died would have died a warrior's death, instead of having their throats slit in the night, or fighting devils that refused to die."

The amnesiac recoiled as if struck, and he could feel Sunny and Greg tense up behind him. "Did I..." He trailed off, feeling a sudden weight on his chest.

Irish barked a harsh laugh. "Not with your own hands, no. You did it by just being there."

* * *

><p><em>Irish and the Wanderer talked a lot on the way back. Much was exchanged about their histories, or, more accurately, the blond man gave a few vauge stories that didn't tell much about his personal life or where he was from while his giant companion gave a general synopsis on his exsistance, and his clan.<em>

_"... So after my granddad won that duel, the tribals in that village let him take charge without a single drop of blood being spilt." Irish said, finishing the tale of the first settlement to join up with Fraiser, during his grandfather's time._

_"So," the Wanderer said, nodding. "You're a federation? Or perhaps a single city, led by a system of checks and balances, with multiple client states? Or maybe-"_

_"Woah." Irish responded, chuckling as he held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Not quite sure what any of that means."_

_The blond man let out an exasperated sigh infused with a bit of humor. "Of course, how stupid of me. Sorry about that, I sometimes forget where I am. I myself am from a fledgling nation, and we're still working on setting up a proper government instead of me and a few hastily-selected represetitives. I like learning about other successful governments in the waste. My question was if you have equal representation for all of the settlements in your territory with Fraiser being a hub, or if your entire government is in the main city, and run by the main city, with the other towns in your territory not having much say."_

_"Ah." Irish responded, getting that statement. "The second one, though considering that any of the towns have the military force to make an uprising annoying to take down, we tend to try and keep them all as happy as possible."_

_The Wanderer nodded once more. "And the government is passed down to the first-born son?"_

_Irish nodded much more. "Yeah. Don't get me wrong, we respect women, and they can lead if they want to. It is more a tradition thing, and if my sister wanted to stake her claim she could. But she's fine how she is, raising a family. And before the new leader is recognized, he has to be approved of by three fourths of the village elders, and the majority of whoever the other towns decide to speak for them."_

_"I thought you said they didn't have much of a say?" The man in the trenchcoat asked, his eyes twinkling with excitement._

_'You think I was offering him a night with my twin sisters.' Irish thought, his lips twitching as he held back a snicker. Out loud, he said, "Yes, but in the selection of a new leader, they are given representation. They are also given a say when disputes are settled between them."_

_The blond one of the two nodded, cupping his chin with his hand. "Quiet the large little empire you have to take charge of one day." The blond man commented, seemingly thinking of the setup of Fraiser's governement._

_"Yeah." The giant was noticeably less enthused than when he was simply discussing his home. "Glad I have family to lean on."_

_"Ah, yes." The blond said, turning from thoughtful to wistful. "You said you had a sister and a brother, right? That much family must be quite the boon."_

_Irish nodded, though he was frowning. "When we get along, which is most of the time, we are the best of friends. But sometimes I envy my little brother."_

_The Wanderer frowned as well. "You said his name was Jamie, right? Why do you envy him?"_

_Irish sighed. "He's younger. All that's expected of him is that he fight when necessary, raise and provide for a family, and be an asset to the village. Me, on the other hand, I've been training to run Fraiser since I was thirteen."_

_The blond man raised an eyebrow. "And you want that lack of expectations he has?" _

_The taller man nodded. "Not just that, but he wants my responsibilities." The man said. "He isn't much of a fighter, and is really akward, but is really good with numbers and the logistics of running a settlement. And when he gets up on that stage to give a speech... He transforms... He becomes a real leader. We were born at the wrong times, I think."_

_The Wanderer frowned. "And?"_

_Irish looked at him, slightly offended. "And?" He asked._

_The man sighed, as if knowing exactly what he needed to say. "Look, I'm going to give you some helpful advice. You'll get dealt a shitty hand in life, which, though cliche, I'm going to compare to a card game. When that hand comes, it tends to come at just the right time to fuck you, fold or play. So you play it."_

_Irish stared, waiting for more, but it never came. "And?" He asked. _

_"And what?" The stranger responded. "Life in the world we live in tends to inherently be awful. If you don't accept that, you don't have the greatest chance to changing that."_

_Irish blinked, then frowned deeply. He had just been given a little bit to think about._

* * *

><p>"We were silent the rest of the way there." Irish said. "For a few minutes I wanted to deck you, but then you got me thinking about that. I had started making plans, not to learn the shit to lead the clan but to change me and Jamie's rolls, though I never really got to do anything with those thoughts."<p>

"Why is that, exactly?" 101 questioned, his interest in the story growing as he learned more about his character before he lost his memories.

Irish's eyes clouded. "I'll tell you that when we get there. Things got interesting when you got Fraiser."

* * *

><p><em>As Irish came upon his home, he looked over the village of Fraiser and felt more than a bit of pride. He could see a massive town square, hustling with commerce and trade. He could see a massive building close to the wall, the Town Hall. He could see a church dedicated to the old world Christan God. He could see the school and the barracks, next to each other, for they were one in the same among his people. He could see the fifty or sixty fairly large homes in towards the center to guarentee their protection, housing about two thousand people of Irish and Scottish descent. Great warriors, speakers, farmers, a few good architects, and, most importantly, good people. In the many years since the war, the ruins of what had once been a predominantly Celtic town in what had once been the state of Oklahoma had been built up again, retaining its name through it all. <em>

_And what wasn't seen was the outlying towns that were under the control of Fraiser. The total population of these outlying towns were equal to that of Fraiser, and their total power was equal to that of what could be called the capital of the post-apocolyptic... Federation. Yes, that made sense. It was Federation, spaning the pan_

_The tall readhead considered it to be a monument to rebuilding in his more philosophical moods, and a damn good home the rest of the time. This would explain his anger when the man next to him said, "You're defenses have all the impenatability of a glass house."_

_Irish glared at the Wanderer, his head spinning so fast his neck cracked. "What the hell are you talking about?" He demanded in an offended tone of voice. _

_The blond man sighed and said, "Pay careful attention to your house's setup, along with the walls." Irish did as suggested, and didn't quite get it. The houses weren't the most organized things in the world, but they did make sense to a resident. He always thought that would give them a homefield advantage. "I'm not sure I get what you mean." The giant said, annoyed at his lack of perception towards whatever point the Wanderer was making._

_The man sighed again. "I'm guessing that the residential district is placed in the center of the town to protect it, correct?"_

_Irish nodded. "Yeah, but if that's your problem, that isn't going to change. We have to protect our children and elders."_

_"And that is very amiable. However, look at your walls. Your gate is impenatrable, but a house made of tenfoil is not indestructable just because you took the door from a vault." Irish's eyes looked once again, paying attention to the walls, and he realized the weren't that great. The metal couldn't have been more than two or three inches thick, and it was shitty metal, some of it rusted as hell. Add that in with the position of the buildings and..._

_"Oh shit..." The Celtic man said, his eyes widening. The armory._

_"That building right there people are guarding?" The stranger beside him said. "I'm guessing that's the armory. Strong explosives placed correctly on the outer wall and all that ordinace will be in that hands that aren't yours. Or maybe they're overdue it and create a helluva explosion."_

_Irish knew that a friend of his, a guy who went by the name .308 because of his hard-on for hunting rifles, was generally on guard duty by the armory. He thought of his friend caught up in the explosion and nearly vomited. "Hell." He murmured. "Something to talk to Da about."_

_"You can bet your ass." The wanderer agreed. He then continued walking towards the town. "Come on. I haven't had a hot meal and warm bed in days, and I need to speak with your father." Irish shook himself and continued moving despite himself, the new man's point leaving him with better things to focus on than taking the lead. _

_In a second, he had found an easy hole in defenses tested by the decades. Sure, the largest attack had been a hundred disorganized raiders, but still, it was frightening. Had anyone given the man before him a small force, perhaps a hundred men as decently armed as the average raider, he could have taken the town, or at least caused some serious damage. While there were a almost twelve-hundred men and women able to fight in the town, most of the good guns were in the armory... Half the force in the town would probably end up using bats and two-by-fours, and even with the numerical advantage, the force led by the man would probably be well-organized enough to cripple the town, if not just plain sack it._

_Of course, not all attackers were that smart. But still. Irish's mind, sculpted by years of unwanted lessons on politics, went to work on the predicament. He could always talk to his father about enhancing the walls, but that would be far too expensive to fit into the budget. The reserves might cover it, but there was a general rule never to drain them below ten thousand caps, and the money required to pay for fortifying the whole wall as needed would be enough to do so. He could always raise tributes put upon the other towns to cover the cost, but that would strain relationships. Perhaps he could also offer extra guards for the towns in return for more money, but that would be counter-producive, lowering Fraiser's overall defensive capabilties. Maybe if he took some of the workers building the new roads he could do it without even messing with the budget, though those roads were a long-awaited thing, and moral would lower amongst traders if their construction stopped, if only temporarily. Perhaps..._

_"Unca Irish!" He heard a voice shout. The man looked up and saw a little girl in a skirt and pre-war jacket running towards him from a group of about six children, her long red hair flopping in front of her dirty, freckled face. He smiled at her, recognizing her as his niece, Marian._

_"Well hello there little Mary!" He shouted, catching her in a flying hug. "And how are you doing today?"_

_"Good!" She responded, smiling widely. "Did you bring me back a pet bighorner yet?"_

_He frowned deeply, though there was a playful twinkle in his mind. "Now Mary," he said, his tone that of over-acted scorn, "what have I said about bringing you back a pet bighorner?" His lips were twitching._

_She smiled brightly and said, "I can't have one until I'm bigger than their droppings!"_

_"That's right!" The big man responded, chuckling loudly. He own high giggle joined him. Then a throat clearing joined that, and Irish remembered that he had a guest. He turned to the man in the beaten-up long coat and said, "This is my niece, Mary."_

_The blond man smiled and said, "Yeah, I figured that out. Hello."_

_The little girl smiled uncertainly and said, "Hello. Who're you?"_

_"James." He responded, though Irish could immediately his new acquaintance was lying. It was a pretty convincing lie, but Irish could catch liars easily, and the man was lying for whatever reason. The red-headed man decided not to call him on the lie, but he became a little more weary of the stranger._

_"Hi James." The girl responded, smiling a little more. "You wanna come play with me and my friends?"_

_Irish made to interject and save the man from hours of tag, but James said, "Sounds good. Who's it?"_

_The little girl smiled deviously, ran forward from behind her uncle, and tagged the newcomer hard in the thigh. "You're it!" She then ran off. The wanderer looked at Irish and shrugged. "I'll catch up with you. And don't worry, I'm not a pedophile." He then began jogging after Mary and her friends, leaving a blinking Irish behind._

* * *

><p>101 swallowed hesitantly. "I didn't?..." He trailed off.<p>

"No!" Irish responded with force, realizing how his hostility might be mistaken at this point in the story. "To be honest, you really hit it off with Mary and her friends. You told me later that you'd always been good with kids, a bit of a child at heart."

Everyone in the room breathed a sigh of relief at that. "Thank god." Sunny sighed, wiping her brow.

Irish nodded. "No, that isn't what sent me on my quest for answers. It was what happened later."

"What happened?" The amnesiac asked. Then, they heard a large explosion and screaming outside.

Irish paled drastically. "Later on in the story, something like what is probably happening now to here."

* * *

><p><strong>Not my best work, but this flashback is a rather unenjoyable section for me to write. I like Irish and want to do things with his character, but action and plot is more fun than exposition. Fortunately, the next chapter will have plenty of both. Should be out this Saturday, and for once I will meet the damn deadline.<strong>


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Blitzed

* * *

><p>101 got up and turned in one fluid motion, making for the exit, Sunny and Greg following him. Then he stopped, and so did his entourage. He turned his head slightly and asked, "Irish, can we win?"<p>

The big man smiled, though it was a sickly smile that darkened his eyes instead of brightening them. "No."

"No?" Sunny demanded, her voice high. After all, what right did this man have to tell her she couldn't stop what was attacking her home?

"No." Irish said again. "If you're under attack by who I'm thinking, then the best you can do is run." Nobody spoke for three seconds, and Irish continued. "Give me a gun, and I can help you. I hate the men who are probably attacking more than the Wanderer, by a long shot."

101 weighed the pros and cons in an instant, a sudden headache seemingly aiding his thoughts instead of impeding them. _'If I release him, he could turn on me. On the other hand, he could be a useful asset. He took me down.' _The blond man resigned himself to the most pragmatic option; use your resources. "Is there a shotgun in here?" He asked the two residents, who just looked at him incredulously. "A shotgun." 101 said again. "We don't have all day."

Greg hesitantly withdrew the caravan shotgun off his back, and one of the small bags tied to the belt of his leather armor. He still had a varmint rifle across his back, and more than likely ammo for it, so the man without memories didn't have any qualms about taking the weapon. "Thanks. Now try to help repel whatever this is." Greg nodded, looking very pale at the thought of more combat, and turned to leave the schoolhouse, stepping over some overturned desk that the settlers hadn't bothered to move. When Sunny hesitated, 101 gave her a look and said, "Go."

She nodded uncertainly, and the blond man's eyes softened as he recognizing her fear. She had always been the most gung-ho resident of Goodsprings, and that made him forget she could feel fear as easily as anyone. He reached out and cupped her chin in a comparatively large hand, and she bit her lip. "Don't worry." He said with a small smile. She returned it, grasping his wrist with her own smaller hand before turning around and leaving, releasing his forearm.

101 turned back to Irish, who was smirking like a jackass. "Say anything and you won't get the shotgun." The blond said, shutting up his larger companion before he could start. The amnesiac handed the giant man the shotgun, deatomizing his own weapon, the hunting rifle, before turning and charging out with Irish close behind.

* * *

><p>What could immediately be seen once the two were out was that this was a chaotic battle. There were troops in red and sports equipment that upon sight were identified by a voice in the back of his head as members of Caesar's Legion. They were clashing with both the Goodsprings settlers, and another group garbed in grey combat armor. A different part of 101's mind, taken with a bullet, pushed its way to the surface of his thoughts, assessing the situation.<p>

_Caesar's Legion. Common arms; cowboy repeater, caravan shotgun, machete. Weak spots; unarmored knees and lightly armored mid-drifts. Other group Rontonians. Common arms; Chinese officer's sword, Chinese assault rifle. Weak spots; unarmored faces and forearms. Leaders of factions; the people having the most fun most effectively._

"Help get the settlers out of here." 101 said to Irish, who was behind him and had barely comprehended a fraction of what had gone through the mind of the blond man. "Kill as many of the other two groups as you want."

Despite his obvious animosity towards the blond man who was giving him orders, Irish had no problems taking those particular ones, he had seen the atrocities committed by the Legion, and the other group... He had felt their crimes. "Make sure you cut off or blow up the heads of the ones in grey." The giant warned. "And understand that I still hold you responsible, but you're basically innocent until you got your memories. I'm not killing you until then. Got me?"

"As much as I appreciate that you don't want to kill me anymore, that conversation can fucking wait." The amnesiac said back, checking to make sure his gun was loaded.

Irish smirked. "I just took care of that conversation, Wanderer." He then charged at two nearby clashing men from the two different factions of attackers, putting most of a 20 gauge shot into the head of the Asian man in grey armor and tackling the masked Legionnaire, catching the man's stomach on one of his massive shoulders.

101 turned his eyes towards the other side of the conflict, nearest to Mitchell's house. The man lifted his rifle and shot at a member of the Legion who was aiming his gun towards a Goodsprings settler, hitting the man in red in the exposed small of his back. The man stumbled forward, a grunt of pain escaping him. He was quickly silenced by yet another shot to the back of his neck, on the exposed area in between the bottom of his helmet and the top of his shoulder guard.

The blond man's intuition then hit him, and he ducked, a Chinese sword passing by the space where his head had been. He shoved the butt of his rifle behind him, catching his attacker in the stomach. This elicited a grunt from the man, as the unexposed portion of his stomach directly above his waist was hit with the full strength of 101's body weight cracked his ribs. The man in the trench coat then shifted both of his hands to grip the barrel of his gun before turning and smacking the his grey-armored attacked hard across the side of his head. He fell to the ground, the resounding crack signifying some significant damage. Remembering Irish's warning, 101 turned and put three shots into his adversary's head.

He turned and moved toward the house of the town doctor, for making sure that he and Trudy, the leaders of the town, were alive was important for the moral of the townspeople. He turned the corner of a house and took three quick shots, each of them hitting the heads of a Legionnaire. They fell to the ground in near unison with three successive thumps.

Looking outwards more, 101 finally understood the gravity of the situation.

All around him, maybe even up into the cliffs, and down to the water pump, were soldiers. The settlers were putting up a fight, but if they weren't quickly disabled by the two superior forces, they realized the futility of the battle, threw down their arms, and took cover. The main road was thick with soldiers already, the two forces colliding in a mass of gunshots and flailing bodies. The blond man, whose headache had intensified since he first saw the men wearing grey, didn't waste time in seeing which group had the upper hand. After a quick count of the dead and the living, he realized that despite a massive numerical advantage of over thirty men, the men in red were battling their grey enemies to a standstill. This spoke volumes of the training of that party. It didn't truthfully matter though; this battle wasn't a fight to defend Goodsprings, it was a fight to see which invader would become occupiers.

101 realized the uselessness of his hunting rifle should either party attack him, noticing that the main mode of fighting was melee weapons. At the same time, the blond man was smart enough to know that he hadn't truly been noticed yet, leaving him with a useful position. He looked to the center of the road, and saw a cluster of three men in grey and ten in red, the numerical advantage of the red stopping the presumably greater skill of the other group.

He looked around and saw a woman crouched behind a building, shaking and holding her rifle. He turned to her and asked, "Do you have any dynamite?" The girl, wild-eyed and scared out of her mind, nodded dumbly. When she did nothing for a second, the amnesiac said, "Give me a stick and a lighter." She finally nodded, fumbling with one of the two sticks on her belt. She finally took out a stick of dynamite and with a deep breath managed to be much calmer with her lighter. She handed both to 101.

He, of course, turned back towards the crowd and lit the explosive, throwing it across the road and into the group. One of the men in grey noticed it in time to turn, but something in 101's head had told him just the amount of time to cook it to gain the maximum results. His headache hit him hard with the explosion, but he ignored it, turning back to the girl. "Listen," He said in a steady voice, "I need you to get as many people together as you can and hold up in the schoolhouse, alright?"

The girl nodded. "Alright." She said. She clambered to her feet. "My name's Ali, by the way."

He nodded. "I'll remember that if I need to find you." The blond man said, his Chinese longsword in his hand. "Now rally everyone. And do me a favor, make sure Sunny gets out of this." The girl nodded again before running off towards a nearby cluster of cowering settlers.

101 turned again towards the melee, and like a supercomputer his brain analyzed the situation. _'Will face overwhelming odds. Options: Frontal Assault. _The option played out in his mind. _'Charge into nearby group, ten red, two grey. One red killed by a slice to the throat, duck under the attack of another, stab him through the gut. Swift mule kick to the groin, thrust out sword and catch another in the throat.' _He winced. _'Cut in half by a strong machete stroke or overwhelmed by numbers.'_

_'Options: Sniping from a Distance. Hit one through the head, another through the chest. Two men with one bullet, both headshots.' _He winced again, this time at both the image of him getting him by eight simultaneous shots and the migraine that was hitting him hard. He looked around, his mind playing out and rejecting over a hundred scenarios before accepting one so outlandish he couldn't believe it actually worked, in his head, at least.

The man turned toward Doc Mitchell's house and ran up the hill, to where he knew the tank he had built lay. Between there and him were a few men, but somehow, he knew he could fight them. His mind was addled by the headache, but at the same time everything seemed clearer on the outside, more defined. And all the men before him, fighting to the death and effortlessly sending Goodsprings into panic... They all seemed so weak.

He began running up the hill. He was at the edge of a house, and ahead of him was clear road. Fortunately, the heavy weapons that had once been mounted on his tank, placed behind the gas station, were packed into an unassuming crate on the inside of the old gas station. He saw one two men in red overcome a wounded man in grey, cutting off his arm and stabbing him through the chest. 101, adrenaline rushing through his system, jumped into the air and twirled while laying vertically, holding out his blade. He cut halfway into the back of one of his enemies's necks, landed deftly, and turned, easily cutting through the armor over the mans gut and spilling the contents of his belly. Then man fell, screaming, and shaking like a leaf.

If he wasn't already again running, the blond man might have thought about how little he wanted to see the man's front now. But he was busy.

101 was halfway up the hill now. Another few seconds and he would reach the top. Two more men, a man in grey and one in red, the one in red being horribly outclassed. The man in grey knocked aside his opponent's machete and took advantage of the opening that created, stabbing forward in a smooth, precise movement, going right into the man's eye.

Once he was less than a foot away from his opponent, the blond went for a speedy strike aimed at the neck, and to his surprise, it was deflected by the man turning and countering. His eyes lit up with a strange mixture of rage and joy at the sight of the amnesiac, as if he were a hunter who had just caught his play. _'He is a hunter.' _ An impatient voice in his head said as he sidestepped a thrust, his headache intensifying.

"I see I have finally caught up to you!" The man shouted, his voice strangely accented. He went for a simple attack that would have led to the blonde gaining a new cut on his neck, a swift, simple strike that allowed no wasted movement. A part of 101 appreciated the skill of the attack, but it was easily parried. The blonde man threw a counter, but his blade was knocked aside as if the strike held none of his considerable strength. His balance was thrown and he stumbled, allowing an opening which his adversary took full advantage of. He gripped his blade with both hands and left a massive gash on the blonde combatant's chest. 101 stumbled back and hastily deflected the follow-up strike.

The Asian didn't continue his assault, instead stopping and holding his blade at ready, looking perplexed at 101. "Why are you weak?" He asked. "I have never before been able to injure you, yet now, I do so easily. You are not even using the correct blade. Why are you so weak, Lone Wanderer?"

Said man, who had slowly gotten to his feet as the other man spoke as his wound hissed shut under the effects of the sunlight, fell again to his knees at the words "Lone Wanderer". He gipped his head, pain shooting through his skull like lightning as images flowed through his head unbidden. Images of a war-torn battlefield, covered in blood-

_Exhaustion gripped him as he stared at the thirty grey-clothed corpses around him. Yet he knew there was still one more. He surged to his feet, his weapons discarded nearby, and knocked away Lao's blade, his superior strength sending the weapon skirting away against the ground-_

101 punched the Asian man across the face with his left fist then, sending the man reeling. Moving faster than he had before, he grabbed his enemy's head and brought it down on his knee-

_-before throwing him to the ground. Lao landed hard on his front, in a daze, before a hard stomp-_

-snapped his neck, supposedly-

_-ending his life. A-_

-10mm pistol appeared in 101's hand, and the entire clip was loaded into the Asian man's head, just to be sure.

Then the rush of memories faded, and 101's vision stopped shifting between an image from his unknown past and the present settling upon tangible reality. He slowly managed to make sense of the images of many battles fought, against men in makeshift armor made of tires and metal scraps, against massive green creatures covered in muscle, against strange, deformed humans, scorpions, little green men. He tried to grasp names, grasp places and people, but they would not come.

Instead, he simply gain the rushed memories of fights. He remembered commanding faceless men, leading them to their deaths in the name of some cause, some cause he couldn't remember. In seconds, frustration built in him as he struggled for a memory, a name, a face.

He came across one name, the name of the man he had just killed. "Lao." He whispered. He clambered to his feet, reloading his ten millimeter with a clip from his pip-boy. He turned from the corpse and towards the gas station next to Mitchell's house, running behind it. There he saw his tank. He turned back and ran inside the gas station.

* * *

><p>As soon as he opened the door, he was greeted to the sight of two Goodsprings men unpacking the light machine gun, while a third larger one hefted the minigun. They all stopped and looked at him when he walked in. "What the hell is so interesting about me?" The blond barked. "Keep doing what you're doing, that's exactly what you need to do!"<p>

The men started and began moving again. 101 grabbed a nearby crate he knew to be filled with ammo and lifted it, turning around and pushing open the door. He heard the men following behind him.

* * *

><p>The four exited and turned behind the gas station, loading their weapons and ammunition onto the tank. As the massive structure was prepared, 101 asked one man, "How did you get here?"<p>

He grimaced. "There were three of us when we started here from the bar. Joe drew their fire around Chet's shop, and we ran and didn't stop. Don't know if he's dead."

The blond grimaced as well and nodded. "He died brave, if he's dead."

Once all weapons were mounted, 101 undid the brake and began pushing it and the three settlers on the tank onto the road. As he hit the slope, he jumped on and let gravity do its work. He placed his hunting rifle in his hands and started shooting, aiming only for the head as the tank rolled into town square. Naturally, at that speed and that angle he missed a few, but he managed to take out three of the grey men and seven of the red.

Doing a quick headcount as the cart rolled to stop, 101 saw that there were almost no casualties for Goodsprings in his field of vision, aside from one body garbed in leather armor. He did spot many injured being helped into the bar by the able, but there were still five armed, crouching bodies providing cover fire whenever the invaders came near the doors to the saloon. "Militia, to me!" 101 shouted, changing his rifle for a pistol and placing his sword in the other hand, trying to pull off inspiring as best he could. "We can win this! Break up groups with dynamite, aim for the head!"

Jumping off the cart, the blonde saw a few of the men and women take his advice. He caught a dark-haired man throw a stick of dynamite into the center of a duo of dueling red and grey men, throwing them both yards away from their previous location at the explosion. As the man in grey tried to get to his feet, holding his head as if he had a concussion, a shotgun blast sent remnants of his head across the ground. It could have been in 101's head, but the man saw a piece of broken metal land on the ground among the gore.

Behind the blast was Irish, for all intents and purposes a red devil on the battlefield. One man in red attempted to stab him with a machete from behind, and the result was a quick side step that should have been impossible for a man so large. Holding the barrel of his shotgun the giant grabbed his attacker's wrist and used his gun as a club, smashing the Legionnaire in the face where his helmet offered no protection. A turned blade hand the man in red holding the machete in his chest.

Unloading a clip of nine millimeter rounds into an attacker wearing grey armor, 101 realized with almost disbelief that the people of Goodsprings could keep their town. As machine gun fire rained down on the lines of the Legionnaires and fighting Rontonians, they broke their fighting and started running. He saw Trudy bust out of the saloon holding Irish's riot shotgun and start sending shells into whatever invaders were foolish enough to get within range.

"Get the fuck outta my town!" She shouted at the retreating men. This seemed to be a better rallying cry than 101 could have ever offered, and soon all those in leather armor were shouting it at the backs of the retreating attackers, trying to hurt with words as much as bullets.

101 felt a bit of pride when his potshot hit one of the Legionnaires in the ass.

* * *

><p>It took twelve minutes. Twelve minutes and the blitzkrieg attack was over. Bodies littered the dirt roads that winded through Goodsprings, and now that the cheering was over, a pit was already being dug.<p>

101 surveyed the streets, two Rontonians over his shoulders. Quickly looking over the corpses in grey armor, he noticed a perplexing and disturbing trend; not a single on of these corpses had a head. The Legionnaires were dead in all sorts of ways, but as far as anyone could tell and considering what the layout of the bodies suggested, someone with ADHD had organized a mass beheading of those in grey armor.

He gave the stumps that had once been necks quick once overs and saw that with many of the cuts had been jagged and barely clean, many of the other wounds were clean and straight. He also noted that these corpses had noticeably less blood around their collars, suggesting the heart wasn't pumping blood at the time of the decapitation.

Filing this fact away for later, 101 reached the pit and threw the two corpses down in atop the growing mound. The blond turned at the feeling of a hand on his shoulder, seeing Trudy.

"You have any know-how with medicine?" She asked, looking grim.

101 nodded. "And plenty of stims." He added. He caught the worry in her face on top of her grimness and asked, "Trudy, you look worried and stressed. I'd expect the second, but what about the first?"

A small depression showed she had bitten the inside of her cheek. "It's Sunny." She muttered.

"Is she hurt?" 101 demanded, sirens going off in his head at her tone and expression.

"I wish." Trudy responded. "Then we'd know where she is. Thing is, nobody has seen her, or Maggie Candeel. Were all getting worried, and since there haven't been any bodies, we're starting to think that they were taken by one of those groups."

Panic welled in 101's chest, making breathing difficult. "You're playing some sick joke, right?" He asked, really hoping Trudy had developed a cruel sense of humor.

She frowned. "This ain't the kind of stuff I joke about. Last anyone saw Sunny, she had been fighting the Legion, and nobody has any clue with Maggie."

101 ran his hair through his tangled hair, longer pieces in the front clinging to his face and the back stuck to his neck due to sweat. "Holy shit. Fuck me."

"You're not the one we need to worry about getting fucked!" The bartender snapped, smacking him in the chest. This seemed to get his attention, and she took in a breath before continuing. "Look, what do you want to do about it? I'm busy with this, and Mitchell is dealing with the wounded. That Irish has already said he has an idea of where the Legion went, and it looks like those others went North."

101 took in his own breath, gathering himself. "Okay, you're right, sorry. Something happened, and it left me feeling good but strange." He thought back to his encounter with Lao, then dismissed it from his mind for later. "If he knows where the Legion went exactly, we'll go there, first. It shouldn't take us long. We don't find the girls then, then we'll head North. That sound good to you?"

She nodded, though her lips were pursed in a frown. "Fine, just go help Mitchell and, and..." She seemed to deflate like a balloon untied, and the demands put on her head over the past day finally showed their toll. "Look, make sure Sunny is alright, okay? I can't go against those rapist, I can't see her if the worst happened..."

"It won't." 101 said back, turning and making for Doc Mitchell's house.

* * *

><p>The good doctor was in a frenzy dealing with four wounded men. Two of them were in his normal treatment area, one was laid out on his couch, and another's groans could be heard from down the hallway leading to Mitchell's room. The doctor, who had his little hair ruffled and sweat coating his head, hurried in when he heard the door open and close.<p>

"Trudy send you?" He asked hurriedly. At 101's nod, Mitchell pointed to the couch. "He has a gut wound, not too bad, give him some Med-X and a stim. Chet got hurt, he's down the hall. Hasn't woken up yet, took a shotgun shell to his left hand. He's gonna keep the hand, though he's only gonna keep his thumb and index finger. He'll need a super stim I left on the bedside table, and the hydra next to the stim."

"How did we have so few casualties?" 101 asked before the doctor could walk away, curious as to the doctor's explanation for exactly how that had happened..

The doctor sighed. "Easy, we knew we were outmatched, so we hid until we weren't. Now go, take care of Tyler and Chet." The doctor moved towards his office to take care of what were no doubt worse injuries. The blond did as he was told and went to the couch, attending to the man who appeared to be Tyler. A quick shot of Med-X and a stimpak took care of him.

Hurrying down the hallway, the Wanderer looked in Mitchell's bedroom and saw Chet, who was in the process of propping himself up against the bedpost. The second he saw the blond, he shouted, "You have to help Maggie!"

Feeling he would learn where the young woman was, the man hurried forward, grabbing the super stim from the bedside table and stabbing it into Chet's hand, shoving the trader down on the bed at the same time. "Where is she? Tell me, and I'll make sure she's safe."

"The men in grey." Chet said, almost feverishly. "They came into the shop I-I killed one of them but another blew off my hand, they tried to-to-to" he swallowed, "rape her, and I passed out but before I did, there was scuffling, she screamed." The Med-X 101 had injected while Chet had been talking took affect, and he seemed to ease back into the pillow. "Keep her safe..." He muttered, closing his eyes.

101 examined the wounded man's hand after that, checking out exactly what he was dealing with, and was pleasantly surprised to find the doctor had been too quick in his judgment. The middle finger was maybe a fourth of the way severed, meaning that it would more than likely heal up. His pinkie and ring finger were gone however, and his hand was mangled as all hell. He further treated it, using the hydra and a stimpak from his own collection.

Finally, the blond stood up and walked out of Mitchell's house, not bothering to talk to the doctor, only shouting, "Tyler and Chet are good!" before leaving.

* * *

><p>Sprinting down the hill, his Infiltrator in his hands without a second thought. Nobody paid him any mind, all watching the bodies burn, so when he ducked into Chet's shop to grab about twelve cans of spam and a few leather holsters, he went unchallenged.<p>

After placing his hunting rifle, trench knives, and a nine millimeter pistol in the holsters. Next he dissembled the suit of leather armor, taking off both sleeves and the complicated shoulder pads and their straps. He grabbed his jacket, yanking off the sleeves of the jacket as well, then taking the elbow pad from another suit of armor. Once this was done, he removed his grunt suit and pulled on his leather armor with the munitions belt. Over that he followed his jacket and on top of that he pulled on his pauldrons, then put his knife and gun holster on his waist above the munitions belt. Finally, he put his elbow pads on.

Looking in a nearby cracked, dirty mirror, he took in his appearance and found it far more intimidating. It was better for his weapons to be situated that way, it made sense for him to have his weapons in more than one placed if he had the option. _'If my pip-boy breaks, I still have my tools.' _He thought. Not only that, but it gave him some small amount of protection. He didn't know what he had been thinking, but it was foolish to rely on his

Thoughts turned toward his surge of energy yesterday, and what it had been doing to him. Already he felt strong, faster, and more aware. In a test, he shot out his hand and snatched a fly in between his two fingers. _'Surprised some of these still grow normal.' _He thought to himself, wiping fly guts on his coat. Going back to his new awareness, he also started thinking of the new knowledge in his mind. Already, he felt as if he knew more, about fighting, shooting, explosives, survival, negotiation, all of it.

Bits and pieces had also come back to him, faces. A beautiful blond woman he felt nothing but love and compassion for. The destroyed face of a ghoul that brought the feeling of brotherhood. The faces of children, with names. Sally. Bryan. James. They were his children, he knew, but they were too old, unless he had had children since he was first able to get it up.

"What the hell am I?" He asked himself.

Right on cue, Irish's voice came behind him. "A piece of work. You know, I owe you an apology, you and these people were stronger than I woulda thought. You didn't have to run."

The blond spun on his heel, removing his pistol from its holster on a reflex he hadn't known he'd had. Leveling the weapon at the large redhead, he took in the man's appearance. He had retrieved his shotgun and had the weapon slung across his back. At his side was a large revolver, more than likely a .44. He was sipping at a bottle of whiskey, leaning against a barrel sitting next to the door of the store. 101 let his heart slow before holstering the weapon. "What do you need, Irish?"

Irish took another gulp of alcohol before saying, "You're going after Maggie Candeel, right? And Sunny?" At 101's nod, the giant continued. "Then I'll be coming with you."

"Sure." The blond said easily, atomizing his rations.

The giant blinked. "I didn't think you'd agree so soon. I had this whole speech prepared."

101 reached behind the counter and grabbed a rucksack, stowing more canned food in, along with a few bottles of water. Tossing the bag to Irish, which the redhead deftly caught, he said, "I saw you out there, you're capable. For all I know, both of those groups could have reinforcements. I need to save Sunny and Maggie, so I can't say no." He raised an eyebrow. "Still want to give that speech?"

Irish blinked again, then frowned. "Well not really. It was basically saying I was capable, I was sweet on Maggie and saw Sunny as a friend, and you might want to hear the rest of my story."

"All of those points are true." The blond agreed. "Though before I hear that story, I'd like to know if you've been able to piece together exactly what the hell happened? How did they attack, catch us so off guard? I haven't found anybody with much a clue."

The giant shrugged. "The Legion came in from the North, the grey bastards-"

"Rontonians." 101 cut in. "They're called Rontonians." At a look from Irish, the amnesiac quickly added, "Seeing them triggered a partial recall of my memories."

Seeming to accept the answer, Irish continued. "Those guys came from the North, towards Vegas. They both blitzed the town faster than a bunch of ranchers could react, and got caught up fighting each other."

The blond frowned. "Why, though? What was their reason?"

The giant redhead snorted. "Like you don't already know. The ones in grey were chasing you. I've had a few run-ins with the ones in red, but I've never done anything big enough to get them to send that many men at me, so I don't know. Goodsprings doesn't have anything too valuable, so..." He shrugged. "You're probably behind that, too."

101 thought for a second, taking in that possibility and feeling frustration well up in his chest, before he turned around and slugged the wall in anger. "Fucking hell." He muttered, working to keep his tone controlled. He pulled back his fist and saw he had bloodied his knuckles and had actually cracked the wood of the wall. He turned around again, sighing, and sat on a nearby chair. "Fuck it, I'll figure out my past at a more convenient time. Tell me the rest of your story."

Irish, who had been silent throughout 101's tantrum, nodded. "Alright. Get comfy."

* * *

><p><strong>So yeah, how about that Superbowl? Still mad the Falcons aren't in, but that can't be helped. Someone got fired in the Superdome, New Orleans won't be hosting for awhile now.<strong>

**Anyways, sorry I've been gone so long, I had an idea for a different story, something I'll have written before even a chapter is released, and this fell through the cracks. I'm back now. I've gotten into the habit of five-hundred words a night for every chapter of each of my stories until I'm satisfied, so these shouldn't take so long anymore. This one took me close to two weeks, and this is fairly long, so that should be about the timeframe unless I have a sudden two-thousand word burst. **


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